All's Fair
by Duchess Emma
Summary: Morgana promises Merlin she'll keep his poisoning a secret. For a price. Can Merlin pay it? Will he succumb to Morgana's seductive tactics? Will she be able to hold herself aloof? It's a sexual battle of wills with only one winner. All's fair in love and war...especially in the bedroom. In the margins of S3, what trouble could these two get into?
1. Chapter 1

**Firstly, I owe the inspiration for this story to several other writers—RomaFelton and Davelle, both of who have stories with similar "Merlin/Morgana sexual battle of wills". I was also inspired by jaqktd's "An Unexpected Job" (a great story).**

**However, I started this story because I can't quite make sense of S3's angry eye-sex. Mind you, I think that Merlin and Morgana have had chemistry from the start. (Even their first scenes together are a bit naughty). Several people have suggested that when the writers first cast Katie and Colin they didn't realize how electric their scenes would become. I'm inclined to believe that theory as most of S3 and S4 have shown crackling tension between them, and not exclusively hatred and anger.** **Like many of you, I REALLY want Merlin and Morgana to be together, not merely foils for each other in the show. Here's to hoping.**

**This story takes place shortly after S3's "Tears of Uther Pendragon II"**

Chapter 1

"You owe me, serving boy," Morgana whispered across the short space, her voice dripping with a sickly sweet sentiment that set his teeth on edge.

He didn't particularly like this alcove. The past two times that Morgana had pulled him in here it hadn't gone well. One would think in a castle this large that she would be able to find a better place to threaten him. Apparently not.

"Owe you for what?" he said, wrenching his arm from her grasp. He resisted the urge to rub the spot where her fingers had curled around his wrist. She was strong for such a delicate woman, he'd have to remember that for next time.

She smiled although it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Why for keeping your little secret. As much as I'd love to see you headless, I have other plans for you," she whispered.

He didn't like her train of thought. Aside from her total destruction of Camelot, the thing he feared the most was Arthur and Uther finding out about the poison. He tried to make himself seem unfraid as he spat back, "I thought we were even on that score. I keep your little rebellion a secret and you keep my heroic attempt to save Camelot under wraps."

He thought he saw a flash of pain in her jade eyes, but she covered it up so quickly he wasn't sure. He could barely read her emotions nowawayds. He'd thought her forgiveness so genuine in her bedchamber. The honesty, the sweet voice that he'd missed so much…it had seemed so real, like the answer to every prayer he'd muttered since her disappearance.

But it had all been a lie. He couldn't trust anything about her now.

She smirked and said, "Heroic attempt to save Camelot? Is that what they call poisoning and cold blooded murder nowadays? As if anyone besides your precious Gaius would believe the King's ward capable of such acts. Even Arthur might question what's muddled your mind if you dare breathe such slanderous accusations."

He didn't have an answer for that. It was true. Arthur, Uther, everyone was just so bloody happy to have Morgana back at Camelot that they were blind to her little smirks and cunning looks, blind to what she'd done and what she was capable of doing.

She seemed to sense his reticence and said, "But don't worry, I'm more than happy to keep your little secret. For a price." Her red lips quirked at the threat.

His brow furrowed as he said bluntly, "What do you want, Morgana?"

"Well, where would the fun be in telling you that?" she said innocently, her eyebrow arching. .

"What do you want, Morgana? It must be something big if you're willing to keep me alive," he said defiantly.

"True. My sister thinks you're too clever. She doesn't like the look of you… 'there's something secretive and shifty about that boy.' But I know you better and I know there's nothing you can do to harm me. Not anymore," she finished proudly as if she'd just solved some elusive puzzle_._

_If only you knew, Morgana. If only you knew how powerful I really am, I'd be the one blackmailing you._ But of course she couldn't know, wouldn't know the true extent of his powers. That was a secret, one he wouldn't dare spill to Morgana for the sake of his wounded pride.

"Besides," she continued, "I think playing with you is better than killing you, wouldn't you say?"

He gritted his teeth and bit down a hot retort. He repeated for the third time, "What do you want, Morgana?"

Waving her hand dismissively, she said, "I'll explain it all later. This castle is full of eyes and this alcove isn't particularly secluded. Come to my room tonight. Midnight. Don't be late," she said with a smirk and then she was brushing past him, her silken gown sliding against his roughhewn clothes, the difference in their stations blatantly obvious. He didn't know if he had ever hated her more.

She had everything. Luxurious gowns, sparkling jewels, sumptuous living quarters, beauty, brains, the ear of a King-and she wanted to destroy it all on some quest to right wrongs for "her people". Her people indeed; she couldn't even recognize one of her people who stood right in front of her.

She didn't even look around as she strode down the hallway like a queen, her hips swinging in a provocative dance that would make any man's eyes linger. She was confident in her ability to manipulate him, confident that she would make him dance to her tune, just like everyone else in Camelot. Every false smile in the courtyard, every tinkle of laughter in the Great Hall, every flirtatious glance she sent one of the knights; it was all a lie.

And it wasn't enough that she had everyone fooled. Now she was bullying servants in alcoves, preying on their dirty secrets. Magic didn't corrupt; it was power that corrupted, pure and simple.

He turned his eyes away and didn't watch her go.

**FINIS**

**What say you? I don't know if it's the lack of angsty drama at this point in my "A Thin Line" or what, but I wanted to bring back some of the cat and mouse game from S3 (with a naughty twist). This story will definitely go up in rating as I'm Duchess Emma.**

**And yes, I'll get back to finishing "A Thin Line" (puts nose to the grindstone)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was midnight and he didn't know why he had come.

Ok, well he was certain that Morgana meant what she said before but he still had no idea what she wanted. And frankly, he was a bit terrified of what she did want. Would she ask him to betray Arthur? To take part in a plan to attack Camelot?

He told himself she wouldn't trust him with that. She knew of his loyalty to Arthur, knew how far he would go to save Camelot. But it didn't make him feel any safer. He spent most of the afternoon analyzing her words, trying to decipher some hidden meaning. What in the hell did she mean by 'play with you'? That could mean all manner of things, none of them good.

He tapped softly at her door, much as he'd done on a very different night not so long ago. They'd been young then. Now he felt so damned old.

Her face appeared as she made quick work of opening the door and pulling him inside.

"Took you long enough," she muttered as she turned to close the door and bar it.

"You said midnight, it's barely a minute or two afterwards," he said a bit stubbornly. "Not all of us can go prowling around at night so easily."

She chuckled and said, "True enough."

He took in the room. He'd been here before, but somehow he expected it to look differently. With her new allegiances, he thought stupidly that her surroundings would reflect the change as well. But the room looked the same-same huge canopy bed, same seating area with two large chairs. It was all so familiar and cozy, yet the woman who now lived here was nothing but a stranger. A dark stranger at that.

He turned to face her and drew in a ragged breath. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Morgana in a nightgown but it was the first time he'd seen her in one so…transparent. The nightgown was white silk (nothing less than the best for a near princess) with a deep scoopneck trimmed with lace. She'd thrown a wrap over it but the white silk clung to her breasts and hips. If he stared hard enough he swore he could see the dark outline of her nipples-

Oh God, that's exactly what she wanted, to distract him, to ravish him. Snapping his head up and away from her tantalizing breasts. "You…you want to seduce me," he practically squeaked. It all made sense. The late hour. The private chambers. The naughty nightgown.

She made a face and said, "Please, Merlin, don't be dramatic. For one thing, I doubt you're very good at sex. And for another, what makes you think I would want to do such licentious acts with _you?_"

He didn't have an answer for that.

She merely smirked and said, "I merely want to play with you."

"Play how?" he said.

"Tease you. Humiliate you. Make you regret all the things you've done to me," she said with some fervency. He didn't know if he liked that any better.

"And how do you plan to do that?" he asked as she sauntered a little closer. It was hard to concentrate with her body and scent that close. The alcove was tiny but her room was starting to feel like a broom closet. A very tiny broom closet.

"Have you ever heard of _la belle dame sans merci_?" she asked.

He thought for a minute and then said, "A beautiful woman without mercy, without pity. She's a mythical figure, a woman who seduces knights and then leaves them broken hearted. Something like a siren."

She kept sauntering and he kept backing up. "Exactly. A seductress who torments men with love and sexuality, who leaves them broken-hearted. She usually teases them, makes them desire her, uses them for her own mysterious ends," she said with devious smirk.

"So you want to tie me to the mast like Odysseus?" he asked a bit suspiciously.

"You are a clever one. And yes, of sorts. I plan to use you for my own ends. Make you desire me beyond any stretch of the imagination and then leave you unsatisfied and humiliated," she said with a grin.

"That seems like a lofty goal as I've started to loath the very sight of you. Why are you telling me this anyway?" he said, forcing his voice to sound nonchalant. Her plan was dastardly. Cruel. And yet a small part of him was intrigued by it…

That frightened him the most.

"Loath the very sight of me? As if that were true. And I'm telling you because I want you to know how I plan to torture you. Seduction, you asked? Seduction implies enjoyment and mutual pleasure. But the pleasure will be all _mine_. And the only one who will enjoy this will be me," she said with a chuckle. "I mean, I could poison you, make you feel the same helplessness that I felt that day, but that's far too kind for the likes of you. This poison will be slower and much more painful. And just like me, you'll know exactly who dealt the deadly blow."

It wasn't cold in her chambers but he felt a shiver run down his spine. She was serious about this whole revenge business. More angry and hurt than he could've imagined. His actions that day were unconscionable , the worst thing he'd ever done. The old Morgana might've seen the necessity of it, maybe even come to forgive him. But a year in Morgause's company had hardened her. It shouldn't come as such a shock given her recent actions but her hatred, her anger was palpable. She meant what she said now. Forgiveness was no longer part of the equation.

Not that he wanted. No, no indeed. He didn't need forgiveness from some power hungry witch who manipulated with delicious glimpses of her…No, no indeed.

She smiled as if she knew exactly how unsettled her threats made him, "So here are the rules: you'll do exactly as I say. If I say meet me in here at midnight, you'll meet me here. If I ask you to do something…intimate, maybe even embarrassing, you'll do it. Whatever I ask, whatever I desire, you'll give it to me. Oh, I won't compromise your allegiance to Camelot but here in this room, I'm your queen."

"Why deign to engage in potentially licentious acts with me?" he asked, echoing her earlier words.

"My sister says I'm too soft. And I think you're the perfect man to try out my…er techniques for manipulation. My most devoted enemy. And I intend to break you. Besides, I need some form of entertainment between plans," she finished with a bored voice.

"Try away, my lady. Give it your best shot. Although I have one request," he said.

"Oh?" she asked arrogantly.

"No kissing," he said sternly.

She laughed mockingly and asked, "And why would I agree to any demands from you?"

"How will you know when you've broken me? How will you know when I've been seduced by you? Every game has to end. And when you get me to willingly kiss you, then you'll know you've won," he said with his own smirk. Kissing was so…intimate. He didn't think any other act she could come up with would require the same level of softening. A strange saying came to him…_Fell your enemy with a kiss_…he definitely didn't need Morgana learning that lesson. He didn't want to kiss her, definitely not. A rule about it would prevent that moment from ever happening.

It took a moment for her to answer and then she said, "Fine, no kissing. But don't balk at any of my other plans. Any other reluctance on your part and I'll happily inform the King that not only did you poison me _but_ you've been sneaking into my bedchambers late at night. Now meet me here tomorrow night. Same time, only don't be late."

"As you wish, my lady," he said with mock humility as he made for the door.

But just as he was about to open the door and escape this encounter unscathed, he turned and said with conviction, "You can enact all the humiliation you want on me, all the temptation, all the frustrated lust. I'll obey every order, give in to all your demands. But you'll never earn my surrender. And you'll never earn my tenderness. If you want a game, my lady, you've just started one that's more dangerous than you could imagine."

She smiled sweetly and said, "Nice warning, Merlin. But we both know I hold the upper hand here. And I mean to keep it that way."

"Just try to keep that hand to yourself because this is one battle I intend to win. Oh and don't break my rule or you might get more than you bargained for. I might take that as invitation to enjoy more than you want to give," he said with a coy and deadly smile.

"I'd sooner kiss your headless corpse," she muttered as he closed the door.

He snuck through the darkened castle with a slight smile on his lips. The battle was on.

And he might've just won the first round.

**FINIS**

**Oh snap, Merlin's a bit cocky. Let's see how he does the next evening. And yes, the no kissing rule is very Pretty Woman, I know. Although, seriously what better way to remind them that this is a game…for now. We have the wonderful John Keats to thank for "La Belle Dame Sans Merci", the title of a ballad poem that's pretty damn awesome.**

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Still working on a chapter for "A Thin Line". My only defense is that it's a sexy one, which are always a bit more difficult to finish. Hope you enjoy this one though. **

Chapter 3

Promptly at midnight, he knocked at the door. Morgana appeared in the same cling-to-every-curve white nightgown. Reflexively his eyes drifted down to temptingly displayed breasts but he snapped his gaze away quickly. When he met Morgana's gaze, she was smiling knowlingly. It seemed his reaction wasn't quite as subtle as the thought.

"You won't break me, Morgana. Particularly not with such blatant ploys," he said stiffly, his eyes firmly on hers.

That only made her smile all the wider. "Oh but I will. Now enough taunts, come sit with me by the fire. Pour us some wine," she said indicating a sideboard where a decanter and some glasses rested. "And I want to see your hands at all times, I haven't forgotten your poisonous motivations."

"As you wish, my lady," he said dutifully pouring two glasses. The wine was thick and red. Port, he deduced, and definitely not something he had access to in the physican's chambers. He brought the glasses over to where she was seated in the parlor area of her room. She was already seated, her legs crossed in an abashedly female way, her arm resting on the armrest. He set a glass of wine to her right and one to his left on the small side table.

She quickly switched the glasses, then took a sip and said without preamble, "So Merlin, do you find me beautiful, Merlin?" Her gaze met his, steady and searching. She was trying to startle him, to read his reactions, to find his weaknesses. Well, she wasn't the only one who could act in this little farce.

He shrugged with indifference as he sipped his wine. "Sure, you're pretty enough."

"Pretty enough? Let's not start this endeavor off with lies," she said with a haughty frown. She resettled herself and he had the impression of a hen whose feathers had been ruffled.

Maybe she wasn't as confident as she appeared. "I've seen the way you look at me," she said arrogantly.

"With disdain and hatred, you mean?" he said flippantly.

"No, with lust. And longing. You desire me," she said with a smirk.

He shrugged again and said, "I had a boyish fancy for you once, nothing more."

Her eyes drifted down to the front of his trousers and she said, "I'm sure your cock would tell a different tale."

He felt himself blush as her gaze lingered on the slight bulge in his pants. His body responded in kind to her seductive eyes, stiffened in response. She smirked knowingly and he tried not to shuffle like a lad caught with…well, an erection. "Well, I am a man. And you're rather provocatively displayed. Unless I gouge my eyes out, my body's likely to react to you, same as any other woman," he said with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

It was true, mostly. Everyone knew how easy it was to rouse a man. A few extra inches of skin, a lingering scent, even an errant thought could do the trick. That was all, sure, that was definitely it.

"Oh, but I'm not any other woman, am I?" she said.

"No, you're an evil and traitorous bitch," he said stoutly, taking another sip of his port. If she could use such foul language, so could he.

He didn't like the direction of this conversation. Conversations, interactions with her recently were like playing with fire. One missed step, one moment of weakness and you could end up singed or worse. It was both heady and terrifying

She clucked her tongue and said, "Language, Merlin, language. This isn't a tavern; you're in the company of a lady."

"Yes, a lady who seeks to overthrow an entire kingdom," he said.

"Well, we all have our hobbies," she said.

He sighed loudly and admitted, "Fine, you're beautiful. Everyone knows that, although you used to be more so."

"Oh so my deception's made me ugly then?" she asked.

"Something like that," he said, taking another sip.

"Well, do tell, Merlin. Now's your chance to say all the things I'm sure you bottle up in the Great Hall," she said.

She wasn't wrong about that. He chuckled to himself as he started, "It's all the excess makeup you seem to favor that's done it. Did your sister have any time to teach you magic what with all the tutorials she must've given you on excessive eyeliner and bold lips?" He took pleasure in the way her red-lipped mouth tightened in anger.

"What would you know of make-up, Merlin?" she asked mockingly.

"More than you apparently. Isn't it supposed to bring out the natural beauty not tar over your entire face?" he asked. He could see her fighting for calm; his observations about her make-up and beauty unsettled the power she was trying to gain over him. It was almost too easy to divert her with that observation.

After a moment, she seemed to collect herself and then asked, "Have you ever dreamed of me?"

"Sure, I dream of everyone. Even Gaius, doesn't make you special," he said truthfully.

"Were you kissing me in any of these dreams? Making passionate love to me?" she said, her eyes intensely searching his face.

"No," he said.

"Oh now, that can't be true. As you've said you're a man. Surely your 'boyish fancy' for me gave you certain nocturnal urges," she asked, leaning forward.

"Meh," he said, shrugging noncommittally.

She tossed her hair casually and said, "Meh? Really? Come on, Merlin, I said no lies. Don't make me keep guessing. I'll merely assume they're too lecherous to say."

"Sure, all the time. I can barely sleep for sexual fantasies of you," he said sarcastically.

She smirked and said, "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Come to think of it, what's _your _fixation with 'nocturnal urges', have a few dreams about me, have you?" he said, turning the question back on her.

"You wish, Merlin," she said, looking away. He smiled like a cat with a cream saucer. She was lying, her avoidance was obvious.

He went in for the kill as he lazily replied, "Ah, I see, you've no desire to share such dreams with me. What exactly is it that you want to do to me? And more importantly, how many times?"

Her eyes narrowed as she said, "I'd like to strangle you with my bare hands. Repeatedly."

"Sounds rather kinky," he said, smiling all the wider at her angry scowl. "You know, I think you enjoy toying with me, Morgana. But there's one thing you've underestimated about me."

"Oh, and what's that?" she asked tartly.

"This toy bites back," he said, taking another sip of wine and staring her down.

She smirked, then said, "Am I supposed to feel threatened by that? I could-"

"Yes, yes, I know, breathe a word of this and my life will be short and painful, yada, yada, yada," he interrupted with a wave of his hand. It felt good to have the upper hand, he could see how frustrated his cavalier attitude was making her. Good.. "Don't worry, I have no plans to turn you in. I like my head firmly on my shoulders. Besides, I plan to live long enough to see you reap what you sow."

"I'm not weak anymore, Merlin. I mean what I say. I will kill you," she said.

"You were never weak, Morgana," he mumbled.

She was never weak. Even when her dreams got the better of her, she was always strong. Her chin held high, hiding her tears, her fears from everyone. Going off into the woods alone to find the Druids? That wasn't weak; that was desperate.

He meant what he said to the Dragon, he would never be like her. Bitterness, hatred had turned her from a strong, beautiful, and loyal woman into some scorned woman on a path of destruction.

But at times, when he looked hard enough, he swore he could see the vulnerabilities simmering below the surface. An inside joke that made her laugh, a quick and reassuring smile at Gwen in the Great Hall, a heart-wrenchingly sad look when she thought no one was watching. They were infrequent, so few that he could've imagined them. And she never had anything for him. All she gave him were scowls and mocking glances.

But for a split second in the crypt, he thought that his words might've reached her…_It doesn't have to be like this. We could find another way_. But that was his curse, wasn't it? To see the good in people? And this time, it seemed he was looking too hard for it.

She snapped him out of his reverie with a question, "Are you still a virgin, Merlin?

He felt some heat rise to his cheeks as his gaze snapped to hers. "Ah, from that blush I'll guess that you are," she said with a devious smirk.

"What do you care about my sexual exploits?" he replied.

"Truth, why that's the only thing I'm asking tonight. Nothing more, nothing less. So answer me, Merlin, are you a virgin or not?"

"No," he lied coolly. Truth wasn't all she wanted. She wanted his soul, his body, whatever else he'd give her in this foolish game. But maybe if he denied himself as something of a conquest, she might back off.

"So the plot thickens. Tell me about this mystery woman. She must've been quite something to make a noble man like you fall off his pedestal," she said tauntingly.

He wasn't a great liar, but he knew that a half-truth was better than a completely fraudulent lie. "Freya. We were in love. It happens. I wouldn't expect you to understand," he said.

"I never took you for a romantic," she said, practically purring her taunts. "I thought it might've been some hot to trot barwench you'd met and bedded while in your cups. In love? What an idea."

He stared her down. "Well, it's obvious you don't know much about me. And love? Well, it seems that you've lost much of that in the past year."

Her face hardened as she took his meaning. "I love my sister. Everyone else just wants something from me. But didn't you ever fancy yourself in love with me?" she finished sweetly.

"No, I was never that stupid," he said, letting her make of that what she would.

"Oh, so what do you feel for me?" she said intently.

"Pity. You make me sad," he said truthfully.

"Then we arrive at the crux of the issue. Why not just kiss me then? Why not just end this game tonight? I'll play fair, give me that small token of surrender and you can go back to thwarting my plans and polishing swords," she said with a smile. She leaned forward and said with pouting lips, "One kiss and we're done with this game."

She did have beautiful lips. Lush and full, and while the crimson shade on them was a bit excessive, in the candlelight it made them glow red, like an ember in the fire. Her eyelids were fluttering and he felt his breath hitch. She was stunning. It wouldn't be a hardship to kiss her…he leaned forward a tiny bit…one kiss really and he could go back to his normal-

He snapped his head back, disgusted by his thoughts. "Kissing is an intimacy you don't deserve from me. I only kiss my mother and women that I love or desire. It's mistress and servant here. I'm playing your game but don't think that you own me," he said sternly." "Besides, what's your fixation with kissing me? Didn't you get enough of that with Alvarr?"

She sat back with a furrowed brow, "Alvarr? You know about that?"

He smiled, delighted that he'd befuddled her. "I'm perceptive, remember?"

"More like a spy. I've learned to be more careful since then," she said with wave of her hand.

He couldn't stop a cheeky smile. "Clearly, as you've invited me, your most observant adversary to your chambers for a late night chat."

Her eyes narrowed as she said sarcastically, "Well then I better dismiss you before I start plotting my next dastardly plan "

He stood and made for the door, surprised to find her following. "Walking me to the door? How sweet of you," he said in a sickly sweet voice.

"It's only so I can bar the door against you. I wouldn't want your lustful thoughts getting the better of you. You might come back and decide to ravish me in my sleep," she said with a teasing smirk.

"Afraid you might like it?" he said

She didn't respond. At the door, she stopped and pointedly nodded towards the heavy wooden door. Instead he yanked her flush against him, his arms trapping her as they settled on her waist. She was so tiny, he thought he might be able to span her entire waist with his hands. Trying to ignore the sudden rush of lust that her soft body created, he looked at her face. He took pleasure in the surprise he found there. Leaning forward, he whispered a mere breath away from her ear, "This has always been a battle between us, hasn't it? This back and forth? This wicked game? But when your lips touch mine, I'll win. So keep your hidden thoughts and your fantasies to yourself, and you might have a shot. But remember, you're the one who started this." He tried to ignore the scent that came from her heated skin. Vanilla. Like fresh-baked sugar cookies. And he loved sugar cookies.

She shoved him away, putting a good foot or two between their bodies. "Gaius told me today that my heart is made of stone so don't think you'll get any less than you deserve from me. And I owe you quite a debt, Merlin," she said angrily. There was a slight flush on her cheeks, from anger or some other emotion he couldn't be sure.

One thing was certain: he got to her. Whether it was hatred, lust, or just outright annoyance, she was affected by him. She wasn't the cool and calculated princess she played. This game wouldn't be as easy as she thought, her feigned indifference wouldn't come into the equation. He meant to make her work for every victory she won. And to give just as good as he got.

So he reached for the handle and then gave her a lazy smile, "Your heart's not made of stone, Morgana. And I mean to prove it."

**FINIS**

**What do you think? Morgana's certainly devised some rather intrusive questions to throw off Merlin. But he's deteremined not to let her get to him. He's had the upper hand so far, but it won't be so next chapter.**

**On another note, I'm always on the lookout for angsty music to listen to while writing my Mergana fics. Currently I'm stuck on "Landfill" by Daughter. ****Any other musical suggestions are welcome and appreciated. **

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I seriously didn't realize how long it had been between updates. Completely shameful. I only hope that this sexy update will make up for my tardiness.**

**Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews! They always make me smile. It's nice to know you enjoy this salacious game of cat and mouse as much as I.**

Chapter 4

He was smiling by the time he knocked on her door the seventh night. It had been a little more than a week since she'd cornered him in the alcove with her taunting smile and her obnoxious threats. She'd ordered him to come to her chambers every night since then. It wasn't usually an order, sometimes it was significant look at dinner or a nod in the hallway, but he always understood the implicit meaning. _Come to my room tonight. _

Everything had become routine since then. He came at midnight, she opened the door, he poured the wine, and she started the battle. It had been six nights of saucy banter, six nights of naughty responses, and six nights of probing questions and even more uncomfortable answers.

But he was winning, of that he was sure. He worked hard to hide his emotions, to hide his secrets behind a mask of indifference and roguishness. The more she probed, the more flippant he became. He could see the frustration on her face, could see her clenched jaw, could see the suspicious and annoyed look in her eyes.

Maybe he imagined it, but at times he thought he also saw admiration. He wasn't some meek mouse cornered by the cat. He parried her every move with one of his own, always having the last word, always making the final threat.

And it bothered the hell out of her.

But he was bothering her on a whole other level, one that she wouldn't dare admit with words. Since he'd pulled her against him that second night, she had steered clear of him. She skittered away like a shy bride on her wedding night, always keeping several feet between them. Oh, she would flaunt her many assets at him, but she never let him get close enough to touch her again.

It made him chuckle even now as the end game was a kiss. How did she expect to win if he wasn't even able to get near her? Was she scared of him? Or rather scared of herself?

"Merlin," she said as she opened the door with a seductive smile meant to drive him mad. It didn't work. He didn't even glance down to see whatever flimsy nightgown she'd chosen tonight. By now he was used to her clearly provocative clothing. It barely fazed him anymore. Barely.

So maybe he'd been a bit more…hands on lately. It wasn't because he'd spend an hour trading insults with Morgana and her barely covered chest that heaved a little when she was angry…No, that wasn't the reason. It was stress. He was under a lot of pressure. Arthur's servant, Gaius' assistant, Morgana's plaything, not to mention the illegal sorcerer and Albion's destiny bit. He led a very stressful life.

And a quick wank killed some of the stress…and it was obviously because after his visits with Morgana were his one moment of privacy throughout the day. Right, that was it. Not because of her. Not because she was a beautiful goddess hell-bent on seducing and humiliating him. Not because sparring with her aroused the hell out of him. Definitely not because of her.

He tried to shake off his lurid thoughts and get back to their banter, afraid that she might notice something off. "No make-up tonight? Must be a special occasion," he said with a smirk.

"Oh, it is," she replied mysteriously.

"Care to share what has warranted to this drastic decrease in cosmetics?" he asked, pouring them each a glass of port. She did look much better without all the eyeliner and crimson rouge. Her skin shone in the firelight and her beautiful green eyes were softer, more lovely.

"Drink up and I'll tell you," she said as he placed the glass in front of her. She didn't switch the glasses.

"So you've finally decided to poison me?" he asked, settling himself in his usual chair.

Her eyes narrowed with deadly intent. "Poison is a coward's tool. If or when I kill you, you'll know exactly what's about to happen. Maybe a dagger or a sword to the belly. Something much more painful and creative," she quipped.

"In my defense, I didn't plan it out very well. It was a half-hearted attempt at best," he said, glancing away. He didn't exactly want to talk about that day. The hemlock, the betrayal on her face, it was as vivid in his mind as it had been that day. The beginning of her hatred, the very reason they were here in this chamber.

"It didn't feel half-hearted," she said, her voice a bit thick. He glanced over to see her frowning at him, no trace of vulnerability. Maybe he'd imagined her thick voice too.

She sipped her wine and abruptly changed the subject. "You know, Merlin, you never told me more about this Freya woman you bedded. You mentioned you were in love," she said.

"Yes," he said. After Morgana's poisoning, Freya was his least favorite topic. He rarely ever said her name. Just another one of his many secrets.

"So where is she now? Aren't you two together? Did she break your heart?" she finished mockingly, her voice sing-songish.

"She's dead," Merlin said softly and forced a huge gulp of the wine down his tight throat. He looked Morgana in the eye, his gaze intense and a bit threatening. "So anything you think to force upon me won't even make me bleed. I've known pain and heartache and sorrow beyond anything your twisted little mind can comprehend."

Her face hardened. "And I haven't? Despite what you may think about me, Merlin, I've not lived a cushy little life here at Camelot. I'm an orphan, remember? And my guardian hates everyone like me, would gladly kill me for my little secret," she practically growled. "I've known loneliness. I've known betrayal, most especially at your hands. So don't think that you're the only one who has the corner on pain. I've felt it. I still feel it, but if I get my way, you'll get plenty more from me."

He didn't have an answer for that. She sat back and stiffly pressed the goblet to her lips.

After a few moment of silence, she turned and faced him again. "Now onto tonight's festivities."

"Oh?" he said, feigning disinterest.

"You didn't think we were going to talk forever, did you?" she purred, a challenge in her voice.

"Of course not. I'm ready for whatever you have to dish out," he said with more courage than he felt. He wasn't sure he liked the devious smile on her face. It was too knowing, too arrogant. That didn't bode well.

She arched an eyebrow and said, "Good, because tonight, Merlin, I want to see you pleasure yourself."

"Pleasure myself?" he repeated, hoping he had somehow misunderstood her. Surely she couldn't mean….she couldn't know about his nightly activities…. She was a woman…she couldn't know about such things…could she? He felt a rush of desire at that image…what if she did …certain things to herself?

She smiled widely as she said, "Why I believe one might call it wanking. Autoeroticism if you want to be technical about it. You're a man, so I'm sure you've done it all before."

"You've got to be kidding," he said, disbelievingly.

"I rarely kid. And never with you," she replied coolly. "What? Are you shy?"

"No, I just don't fancy exposing bits of myself to someone who has a clear motivation to see them hacked off," he said stoutly.

"You needn't expose anything. Surely you can think of a way to reach your er.. climax without unveiling the goods, so to speak. Besides, I'm sure whatever's in your trousers is of no erotic interest to me," she finished with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh really? Then why propose this activity?" he said a bit angrily. Her taunts were rather scathing. No erotic interest? Please.

"Do I need a reason for anything I do here? I mean to humiliate you, Merlin and what better way than to make you _perform_ for me. Besides, I'm your queen here and I want what I want. Take all the time you need, but in the end, I still want my way." She shrugged nonchalantly and said, " Or you could just kiss me and leave with your pride still intact…"

"Never," he said firmly.

She settled back in her chair comfortably, "Then whenever you're ready."

"You think to embarrass me but it won't work," he said with a scowl.

"I know it'll work. Now stop delaying and give me what I want," she said with an arched eyebrow.

"As my lady wishes," he said mockingly and set his goblet on the side table. Quickly he scooted his chair further to the right, intent on giving her a good view. If she wanted to play this game, he'd play to win.

He gave a quick sigh and slowly brought his hand down to the front of his breeches. His hand was shaking and he tried to steady it. This wasn't exactly a usual situation. It was one thing to do this in the privacy of your own room or under the blankets after everyone had fallen asleep. It was quite another to do it in front of the woman who fascinated you more than any else in the world.

But she demanded it and he would acquiesce. He was made of sterner stuff, she wouldn't make him ashamed; he'd make her blush.

He rubbed the flat of his hand against the front of his trousers. Much to his chagrin, his body sprung to life, primed and ready for a little release. He bit back a soft moan as heat rushed straight to his groin. His body was hot, hard, waiting eagerly for the next stroke of his hand, it didn't seem to care that Morgana was watching.

Or did it? He'd never been this hot, not on his own at least. He stiffened inside his breeches, the evidence of his arousal clearly outlined against the rough fabric. He rubbed up and down, using the pressure of his palm to stroke his manhood. Feeling a little brazen, he widened his thighs, intent on showing her exactly what she'd asked for. He heard a soft intake of breath, barely audible, but he knew she'd seen the little action. It gave him the courage to finally look up.

She squirmed and quickly looked away.

"What, my lady? Not enjoying the show? You did say you wanted to watch, right?" he said hoarsely, his hand gripping his hardness.

She never could resist a challenge. She looked up and said slowly, "I am watching."

"Good," he said and he ended on a moan as he focused on the tip. His eyelids started to flutter shut with pleasure, but he wouldn't hide his eyes from her, wouldn't hide the passion that was flooding him. She wanted this.

At his loud moan, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted just the barest bit. A fresh surge of lust went through his body; she was reacting to him.

Deciding to push it further, he groaned out, "Mmmm." Her eyes widened, clearly torn between looking at his face and at his stroking hand. Her chest heaved as she sucked in a deep breath. Her breath drew his attention downwards and he shuddered to see two bumps rising against the silk. Her nipples. He'd often wondered what color they were. Were they a soft pink or a dark red like her lips?

He groaned as they seemed to perk up even more under his gaze. He was arousing her. She was ….turned on by this little exchange. Her face was curious, no smirks or lips curls. Her eyes were heated as she looked at him, their gazes finally locked.

He was so close, he knew he wouldn't last much longer. His hand was rubbing harder and his hips rose to meet every stroke. But he couldn't look away from her eyes, feeling a strange pull, a heated connection that was as unwelcome as it was intense. He felt exposed, like she could see into his soul….and that she was surprised by what she found there. His body was on fire, ready to explode, pushed to the limit by her seductive body and tempting taunts.

"I'm…doing this…for you…,Morgana" he choked out. He meant it as an accusation, instead it sounded like a dark confession.

Then his body crashed over the edge, every muscle tightening into a blissful torment of pleasure. His free hand clutched the armrest as white-hot heat surged through him. He gasped out as his seed dampened his drawers and breeches. He moaned, over and over and over again, every inch of his body glowing in the euphoric aftermath of the most intense climax.

He drew in several deep breaths, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. It had never been like that. Not ever. He should've felt ashamed, should've been embarrassed to come in his trousers like some untried lad.

But he didn't feel any of those things. Instead he felt strange, altered even. Those few moments had been…intimate. Special. And he'd shared that with Morgana.

He shrugged his shoulders, hoping it would mentally shrug off the uncomfortable emotion that was creeping in. It was an act. A performance for a cruel mistress. It didn't mean anything.

But it unsettled him. He didn't like that one bit.

He finally looked up and she was wearing a smug smile. _It's a lie. It's all a lie. _

But her cheeks were still flushed and there was a slight tremble to her hand as she raised her goblet to her lips.

But it hadn't felt like a lie. There was no lying in her pebbled nipples, no lying in her flushed lips. And without all the makeup, she looked just like the Morgana he used to know.

She gained her voice quickly, although it was still a little thick. "Is that hate I see in your eyes, Merlin? Or is it lust? I think it's the latter. Check," she said with a smirk.

Anger, unreasonable, stupid anger rushed through him. He might've felt hate at that moment. The reminder that this was all a game was too much, even if it was echoing his own jumbled thoughts.

"Take what you want from me, Morgana. But in the end, it'll all amount to nothing," he said darkly.

And he stood and left, not waiting to be dismissed.

**FINIS**

**I think the writers are just HUGE teases. Recently, I've noticed how frequently Merlin and Morgana touch in all the seasons. Of course, later in the show there's a bunch of tugs and grabs in bedrooms and into alcoves, but even in the S1, there are quite a few moments where the rational part of me is like "Was that really necessary?" and the perverted, dirty side is like "YEAH! Hot, sexy holding!" Plus, they are ALWAYS standing way too close to each other. I'm not crazy, right? Right? Although I do sometimes cry when I see really angsty Mergana videos on YouTube. It's pathetic, I'll admit, but what a waste of good sexual tension. **

**And on that awkward note….please review! I'd love hear what you think about this dirty scene. Too far? Or not far enough? I have so much planned for these two, you don't even know…**


	5. Chapter 5

_Well, this is torturous, electricity _

_Between both of us and this is_

_Dangerous, cos' I want you so much_

_But I hate your guts, I want you so much_

_I hate your guts, I hate you_

_"Landfill" by Daughter_

Chapter 5

"Tom! Tom! Where are you?" she said at the entrance to the stables. "You were supposed to have Lady saddled fifteen minutes ago!"

The only response was a giggle, a rather girlish one at that. She rounded the corner; her quickly eyes adjusting to the dim interior. "Tom? Tom?" she said.

Another giggle sounded. She frowned as she saw two serving girls clustered together at the back of the stable. _What the hell?_

As she moved closer, she heard the distinct clang of a pitchfork. What was going on? She caught a few snippets of conversation. "That must be _really_ hard work you're doing there…I mean, you're all _sweaty_…Are you sure we can't do anything to help?"

So a flirtation, it seemed? Was that Tom? What was he doing mucking out stables when her horse needed to be saddled?

"Excuse me?" she said loudly and the two girls whipped around.

"My lady," said as they both curtsied a bit guiltily. Mary, the more brazen of the flirts said quickly, "We were just leaving, my lady." Then over her shoulder she smiled dazzlingly, "See you later." She and the other girl quickly walked away, a few pearls of giggles following them.

She watched them leave, a slight frown on her face. She remembered being that age. Young, carefree, innocent-her biggest fear had been Uther's set downs or being sent to her room. But everything had changed; her world was darker now, more painful, more secretive. Discovery, imprisonment, death, failure, those were her realities now. What she wouldn't give to be all of sixteen and flirting with a stable boy again….

"You," a familiar voice said from nearby. She whipped around to see Merlin leaning against the door to the pen, pitchfork in hand. So this was the mystery man with whom the serving girls had been flirting.

She had opened her mouth to deliver a rather scathing retort but the words caught in her throat. He was….bare-chested.

Swathes of pale skin and muscle were covered with a thin sheen of sweat. There were a few patches of dark, curling hair scattered across his chest. Her mouth went dry as several drops of moisture trickled down his taut stomach and under the low slung waist of his breeches.

Images of last night rose up in her mind. His hand caressing his body, his sapphire eyes boring into hers. She thought to humiliate him with such actions, she didn't think he'd actually enjoy it….nor was she comfortable with how she felt during the exchange.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his smug gaze. Once again the bastard had ruined everything.

And now he was here….shirtless…and very, very finely tuned. _Bastard_.

"You," she said accusingly, although the husky timber in her voice softened the word. "What are _you_ doing here? Where's Tom?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "He's not here. One of the King's horses threw a shoe, he took the horse to the smithy. What are _you _doing here? Have you taken to spying on me during the day now?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're the one who knows all about spying. And pray tell, why would I be interested in flirtatious exchanges between Camelot's servants?"

"Ah, feeling a bit jealous, are we?" he said with a knowing smile.

"You only wish," she said with narrowed eyes.

He strode a few steps forward and she automatically took another few steps back. After last night he should've been wary of her, should've been blushing and stammering in her presence. Instead he was invading her space, invading her mind with erotic images and seductive taunts. When had he gained the upper hand?

"You know, you're looking a bit flustered, Morgana. Are you sure that it isn't my naked chest making you blush?" he said looking down at his chest with a grin.

She felt her cheeks flame a bit brighter, but she managed to retain her haughty demeanor. "More like blinding me with your pasty skin. I merely came here to look for Tom. He was supposed to saddle Lady for me nearly half an hour ago."

"Off for a rendezvous in the forest with your sister?" he said, quickly taking a few steps forward.

"No!" she said angrily. With every step she took, he took one forward. She took another few steps back and then suddenly, she felt her back hit the wall of the empty pen. "Stay back, Merlin."

He merely moved closer, his hands thrust against each side of the wall, trapping her in the circle of his arms. The look on his face was a little predatory and very, very arrogant. She tapped down the fizzle of excitement.

"Why? Is my pasty skin distracting you?" he asked with a smile.

"No, it's…you're sweaty and gross."

His hand moved up to her cheek, his finger sweeping over her skin. "Or are you afraid you might give me a kiss?" he continued, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip.

"Never," she whispered a little breathless. She jerked her face away from his hand, breaking the hypnotic and heat filled connection between their gazes. What was wrong with her? She could easily blast him across the stables with her magic, why hadn't she?

She started as he tenderly took her lifeless left arm from her side and turned her palm up towards his face. Softly, he brushed his mouth against the center of her palm. She wanted to squirm away, to take her hand back, to slap his arrogant face. But something held her back. There was such tenderness in his touch, such…honesty in the way he nuzzled her palm. She wasn't used to such feelings, such touches, and definitely not from Merlin. No one had ever made her feel this way…. wanted, desired even. "When you watched me touch myself, did that make you wet?" he said, his voice husky and seductive.

Her body quivered in response to his touch and his words. "N-n-no," she breathed, her voice unsteady. "It was pathetic and disgusting." That's what she'd wanted, at least. But it hadn't ended that way…it had become something more…something dangerous.

Dumbly she watched as he pushed the bell sleeve of her redingote* down to expose her white wrist and forearm. Slowly he moved his lips down from where he had whispered against her palm, his hot breath giving her goosebumps. When his mouth met the thin skin of her wrist, he sucked on her pulse point. She shuddered in arousal, his eyes never leaving her. Why was she allowing this? What was the matter with her? She should've been repulsed by his touch, instead she felt singed with every brush of his lips.

"Really? The flush on your face last night told a different story," he whispered, his lips ghosting down her arm.

She found it difficult to follow the conversation with his touch distracting her. "I was embarrassed. Like I am now," she said, trying to sound annoyed. Instead her voice came out all raspy and aroused. Curse the bastard!

He smiled again, the same boyish smile that in her younger days had nearly undone her.

He had moved his hands back to their original position, trapping her. He leaned forward, his mouth a mere inch away from her ear. "Mmm, hmm. I bet you went to bed last night with your own hands engaging in such pathetic and disgusting play," he whispered.

She wanted to be shocked at the crass suggestion, instead it merely made her curious…_Bastard._

"I could always scream, Merlin." She should, one blood-curdling scream from her and there would be ten guards in the stables. But something held her back. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to her. He could twist last night, he could have the last word, but he wouldn't win this little skirmish. This was between them, wasn't it?

"So you can dish it out, but you can't take it? Is that it? No wonder you want me to perform, it seems you're a bit frightened of how you'll react."

She didn't have an answer for that. Right now she was feeling like she was in over her head. The tension crackled between them. She was incredibly aware that they were essentially alone, that he was without his shirt, and that he had her trapped against the wall.

She'd been in worse scrapes before, worse situations. But somehow this felt more dangerous. She couldn't trust herself. And he seemed to sense it. What was wrong with her? Was she so starved for affection that she would seek it in a man who had tried to kill her?

"But let me give you a little bit of advice, my lady: you're _mine_. You could have any man you wanted but you came to _me_." His dark whisper washed over her, his spicy breath drowning out rational thought.

She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could say something, his lips descended on her neck.

She was shocked. His lips skimmed along the line of her jaw, tantalizingly close to her lips. Her skin tingled and her lips parted in response. Maybe she just a few more moments…maybe he'd be distracted enough to kiss her.

Not that she wanted a kiss, definitely not a kiss from his pouty red lips that were dragging near to the side of her mouth….no, it was a game, it was all a game.

His left hand had curled itself into the base of the braid that hung over her shoulder, his fingers rubbing her scalp. He angled her head to the left, his lips and harsh breath moving to the side of her neck.

Then he sucked on the sensitive skin. Hard.

She gasped at the new sensation. It wasn't painful per se but surprising and raw. His teeth chafed the spot over and over, nibbling and sucking all at once. His right hand stroked her waist, his warm fingers searing even through several layers of velvet and cotton.

She was glad for the wall at her back because her knees felt like jelly. Her breath was erratic and her heart beat to a fever pitch. Her hands crept up between them, whether for the purpose of feeble protest or an impassioned grab, she wasn't sure.

His lips moved upwards and he took the lobe of her ear between his teeth. She shivered and closed her eyes as wet heat engulfed her. It was heaven, it was divine…if she turned her head those pulp lips could be on hers…

"Mine" he whispered against her ear, the word like a bucket of cold water.

Her eyes widened. This was about possession, about ownership. And she'd just succumbed to be owned.

She quickly pushed him away. His face was smug, arrogant, like a sultan who'd just eyed up a new concubine. That wasn't her, she didn't belong to any man. And she certainly wasn't Merlin's.

She raised her hand and a loud crack filled the small stable.

She felt a little contrite as the red imprint of her palm appeared on his face. But as he turned his face back towards hers, he had the nerve to grin. As if he knew it all.

"I did not give you permission to do any such thing!" she exclaimed.

He gingerly rubbed his cheek and said, "You didn't seem to mind."

"I minded a great deal!" she shouted back, sounding a little shrewish.

"I'd say your body tells a different tale," he said, echoing her earlier taunt, his eyes flickering to her neck.

She growled in frustration and resisted the urge to blush. This was a game and she hadn't lost, not yet at least. "You haven't won, Merlin. I'll have you groveling at my feet in no time. Or should I say, kissing my lips. Rest assured, this isn't over," she said brushing past him.

Suddenly a hand clamped down on her wrist and she was pulled back to face Merlin.

"If you'll remember, my lady, I wasn't the one who started this. That was you. Mayhap you're getting in a little too deep…"he whispered.

"I hate you. You'll pay for this," she said through clenched teeth.

He smiled self-assuredly. "Maybe. Maybe not. Best skitter back to the castle before you succumb to more temptation."

She gave him a quick shove and she was free. With as much dignity as she could muster, she quickly walked out of the stables. She didn't run, nor did she 'skitter', she merely walked briskly back to her room. His low chuckle seemed to follow her the whole way.

She yanked open the door to her chambers and slammed it shut, leaning against the door. _Bastard. Stupid, obnoxious, know-it-all bastard. He'll pay._

"My lady? I thought you were going for a ride," said Guinevere, rounding the corner from the sitting area.

"I changed my mind," she said brusquely.

Gwen's gaze flickered to her neck and then she said, "What's happened to your neck, my lady? It looks like you have some type of rash or something? Are you alright?"

Morgana walked over to the mirror, curious as to what Gwen saw. Was there some type of scarlet 'N' on her neck that indicated she'd been necking with Merlin? Some straw or filth from the stables?

As she came closer to inspect herself, she saw exactly what had alarmed Gwen. On the left side of her neck, at the exact spot where Merlin had sucked was a large, rectangular mark. It was about an inch wide by half an inch tall; it was a dark red.

She angrily rubbed her finger over it, hoping to erase any trace of Merlin and his mouth from her skin, but the mark wouldn't go away.

Her mouth tightened. He knew this would happen! He'd purposefully sucked on her skin to make this stupid mark! He'd….he'd…he'd practically branded her, like some cow in the pasture! His fervent words echoed in her head…_Mine…Mine_. His, indeed! She'd show that smug bastard who was whose!

"My lady? Should I get Gaius?" asked Gwen, jolting her back to the present.

"No, it's nothing. I'm sure it's just a bug bite or something," she lied.

Gwen looked skeptical but said nothing.

"Gwen? Do you remember that one gown? You know, the one that we were saving for a particularly special occasion?"

"The….incredibly revealing red satin one?"

"Yes, that one. And the corset that goes with it. I want to wear it tonight," she said with a smug smile.

Oh, he'd pay alright.

**FINIS**

***A redingote is something like a dress/coat combination, sometimes with a hood. It's often used for riding or other outdoor activities. I would categorize Morgana's lavender purple embroidered and hooded gown as one. (She usually wears it riding or to outdoor meetings with Morgause like S3.1)**

**Why a hickey! Will Morgana have to wear a turtleneck to dinner? Merlin's a devious fellow, I do like giving him the upper hand. Let me know what you think!**

**Please review! **


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She met Arthur in the hall right outside her room. He stopped dead in his tracks.

His face darkened and he said, "God have mercy, what in the _hell_ are you wearing?"

"A dress," she said innocently, casting her eyes down to the red satin confection that clung to her every curve.

"Gwen! Guinevere!" he shouted towards her room. Gwen popped her head around the corner of the door. "Yes, sire?"

"What is Morgana wearing?" he said, still frowning at Morgana's dress.

"A dress, sire," said Gwen with a confused frown.

"Are you sure you didn't forget to put on the other half of it? Like the layer that goes over it?" he asked skeptically.

"No, I think it's perfectly lovely, sire," said Gwen with an amused grin.

Arthur continued frowning at her dress, like it was a person on trial. "So that proves it: you've both gone mad. Morgana, you can't seriously be thinking of wearing that….that…that scrap of fabric!"

"And when did you become so well-versed in fashion?" Morgana asked with a smirk.

"It's….it's indecent!" he said, clearly at his wit's end.

She crossed her arms and frowned down at him. "Well, indecent or not, I'm not changing. Now let's go before we're late for dinner. Best not keep the King waiting."

"Fine," Arthur said, poutily, looping her arm through his and walking down the hall. "But if you catch your death of cold because of some stupid gown, don't come crying to me."

"Don't worry, my 'indecent' gown possesses more than adequate heat."

Arthur grumbled something that sounded like "yeah right" but said nothing else as they neared the Great Hall.

They passed several guards on their way to dinner. While most eyes widened, save for one fellow who dropped his spear, no one said a word or stared too long in Arthur's presence.

"My father won't like it," Arthur said as they neared the entrance.

"I didn't wear it for him," she said quickly, annoyed at Arthur's continued intervention. It was true, she definitely didn't wear it for Uther or for anyone else seated at the table. She'd worn it for Merlin, to make him realize exactly what he was missing.

"Oh?" said Arthur, his face full of mischief. "Then who's the lucky chap for whom you wore a gown that's likely to start an political incident?"

Unsettled at how close he came to the truth, she said with her usual haughtiness, "I wore it for myself, thank you very much. How sexist of you to presume I wore this gown for a man."

Well, that was true also. She looked down at the gown and felt a smug sense of satisfaction. It really was scandalous and indecent, although she'd never admit that to Arthur. The red satin dress was cut in a mermaid style, so the satin flared out at the knee. The neckline was low and square, with her arms bare. The neckline was trimmed with tiny row of lace, which might've made it slightly less sexy, had it not been for the corset that went underneath the dress. At her request, Gwen had laced it up incredibly tight. Like, might-be-able-to-eat-dinner-off-her-plumped-up-breasts tight. Her breasts nearly spilled out of the low neckline, the lace trim barely keeping her nipples hidden. The dress skimmed over her impossibly tiny waist and clung to the shapely curve of her hips. The red satin was unadorned, making it look like it was painted on her body.

It was tight. It was brazen. It was perfect.

They entered the Great Hall and Uther came towards them.

"An…interesting choice of gown this evening, Morgana."

"Don't you mean indecent, father?" said Arthur from her right.

"Leave her be, Arthur. She looks divine…a little uncovered but lovely," Uther said with an indulgent smile. She'd been afraid that Uther would send her straight back to her room to change, but it appeared that since her return she could do no wrong.

They all moved to the long table where a small feast had been set.

Then the moment she had been waiting for happened; Merlin entered the hall.

He came from a side door near the front of the room, shuffling along quickly and distractedly with a pewter pitcher in hand.

His eyes lifted and his mouth dropped open. Not subtly or slightly, but wide open, falling into the shape of an O. The pitcher slipped down his body as his arm went lax, then dropped completely, spilling water all over the floor.

Both Arthur and Uther turned at the crash of the pitcher. Merlin was just standing there, like he didn't even hear the loud clang from the pitcher.

He was staring at her with something akin to alarm. And with blatant and raw lust. He was surprised and gaping openly at her. His eyes darted down, taking in every detail of the dress, every clearly outlined curve of her body, ever extra exposed inch of skin. His gaze was lavish. It was blunt. It was completely inappropriate, made even more so by the presence of Arthur and Uther.

And it was utterly priceless; his slack jaw and with the outrageous scene he was creating, she pressed her lips together to keep the giggles in. Payback indeed.

"Merlin," Arthur said under his breath. He just kept staring. "Merlin," Arthur repeated a little louder.

Nothing, no response or movement. He just continued staring. His eyes were stuck on her breasts like he was trying to figure out how many knots it took to make the lace.

She remembered when she'd first seen him in this very same room, so many years ago. He'd done much the same, although it had been a bit less obvious. She didn't return his stare, but it was his eyes, more than anyone else's, that made her neck tingle as he stared at her the whole evening. He'd made her feel….powerful. Beautiful. He'd looked at her with such reverence, like she was some type of goddess out of a myth. Sure, there'd been some lust, but it hadn't been lecherous or off-putting. It was tender, sweet, wonderful. That night she'd gone to bed thinking of his dark blue eyes.

Now his gaze almost made her toes curl. It was impassioned and burning. This was exactly what she wanted…she wanted his lust….she wanted his outright admiration. But she didn't want the feeling it was evoking. _Mine_, he'd whispered earlier in the stables. And in this moment she thought it true. His eyes were possessive, claiming her as if he could see right through her gown. She felt a blush start to form and quickly tamped down on the little burst of pleasure.

She was enjoying this but not because she was actually _affected_ by Merlin's gaze. No, she enjoyed his humiliation. That was it. She wasn't anyone's, he was _hers. _

"Merlin! Stop ogling Morgana and clean this up!" Arthur shouted.

That certainly got his attention as he closed his jaw with a loud snap. "I…..I'll….I'll get right on…that. Sire," Merlin said choppily, his eyes still lingering on her body.

As he continued to hesitate and stare, Arthur growled, "Now, Merlin! Now!"

He started, took in both Uther and Arthur glaring at him, then he nearly ran back the way he came. She smirked as he disappeared back to the kitchens.

Uther chuckled and said, "It appears your gown has caused a rather…blatant reaction."

They settled themselves at the table as Merlin came back with a new pitcher of water and a cloth.

As he came back in, he narrowed his eyes at her. The glazed look of lust was gone from his face. Clever man, he knew what this was about. She arched an eyebrow and inclined her head victoriously. Round one went to her.

Dinner started and she reveled in her small victory. Merlin filled the King's cup first, then moved onto Arthur. As Merlin leaned close to pour some water into his cup, Arthur muttered something to his servant that sounded remarkably like "behave or I'll feed you to the dogs."

Warily, Merlin made his way around the table to her fill her glass. As his steps got closer, she sat up taller in her chair and lean forward onto the table. This pushed up her breasts even higher, and with his vantage point standing next to her, made it easy for him to see all manner of flesh.

As he came closer, she looked up, forcing him to meet her gaze. She smiled brightly, a gesture that could've been mistaken for gratitude. But he took her meaning; she was gloating.

His hand shook a little as he reached for her glass and she reveled in that sign of weakness. It was one thing for him to see her provocatively dressed in her chambers, quite another to be able to look directly down her dress at the King's table. And certainly, this gown had more to offer than any of the flimsy thing she wore to bed. Those were transparent; this was barely contained.

He poured some water in her glass slowly, focusing on his task a little too intently. As he set the cup down on the table, she quickly reached for it, their fingers grazing. His skin was warm, shockingly so. A fizzle of electricity seemed to pass between them.

She heard his breath catch as he snatched his hand back as if burned, a frown on his face.

"Thank you, Merlin," she practically purred, giving him a naughty wink.

His frown deepened as he made his way back to his assigned spot. Try as he might, Merlin wouldn't be able to avoid looking at her. As Arthur's servant, he was required to stand directly behind the prince, so there was nowhere for him to look but at her. Although he did try. He looked up at the ceiling, down at his boots, at the pillar directly behind her seat. But his eyes always came back to her.

She wasn't exactly helping either. While she had to maintain the façade that she was listening to Arthur and Uther, her eyes lingered as often she dared. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

She played with the large necklace she'd donned to hide the mark from the stables, knowing that it would draw Merlin's gaze back to her amply displayed chest. She smiled down at herself as she innocently toyed with the chain.

However, her action also drew someone else's eyes. "What's that on your neck, Morgana?" Arthur asked a strange frown on his face as his eyes zeroed in on the mark.

"What do you mean?" she said unsteadily, forcing herself to act nonchalant.

"The red mark that your necklace is hiding. I saw it just now as you were playing with the chain."

"Nothing," she said definitively, casting her eyes downward. She knew if she looked at Merlin, said creator of the mark, she might blush. "Just a mosquito bite from my sojourn outside today."

"It doesn't look like a mosquito bite. It looks more like a strange bruise…" said Arthur, leaning forward to get a better look.

Behind Arthur, Merlin coughed loudly to cover up his sputtering laughter, his eyes full of mirth. He cast a taunting eyebrow her way, a look of smug arrogance on his face. He tilted his head in mock imitation of her earlier gesture.

_Bastard_. He was enjoying this, he wanted her to squirm. Arthur frowned over his shoulder in question and Merlin straightened up, a small smile playing over his lips.

"No, it's a mosquito bite. Such _vexing and stupid_ creatures. This one got his due justice after this _bite_," she said intensely.

Arthur continued to be skeptical, "I still don't think it looks like-"

"Arthur, leave the poor girl alone. You're a prince, not a physician," cut in Uther. Turning towards her, he said, "You might want to see Gaius about it, he could give you some cream or something."

She smiled. "Thank you, but I'm fine. Really, it's nothing. Nothing at all," she said the last two sentences with finality. It was nothing. It meant nothing. Merlin had just finished with his last laugh for the night. She was going to win this.

Uther changed topics, drawing Arthur into a conversation about the citadel's defenses.

In all honesty, she should've been listening to their conversation. It was her job to gather as much information as possible on Camelot so as to pinpoint its weaknesses. That's what Morgause wanted, expected from her.

But all she could see was Merlin's smug face and taunting smile across the table.

There was a battle on right now. One she wouldn't lose. One that couldn't wait.

With a dreamy look on her face, she sighed softly, raising her hand to lie on the exposed skin above her breasts.

As her hand slowly lowered, she softly and deliberately grazed her left breast. Uther and Arthur were still engaged in a deep conversation about troops; they noticed nothing.

But Merlin, well, he was rapt with attention. His mouth was once again open. But his eyes, they were scalding. Heat raged in his sapphire eyes before he tamped it down.

He looked away quickly and swallowed uncomfortably

It was a low blow, even for her. But sure as quickfire, it knocked the smug look off Merlin's face, so it was worth it.

She raised her goblet to hide the triumphant smile that was coming over her face.

Time to up the stakes. Draining the water, she set it down on the table and nodded meaningfully towards her glass.

Reluctantly, Merlin came around the table to fill her glass. As he moved to place the glass back on the table, she stopped him with a whisper. "I'll take that, Merlin."

Reaching her left hand across her body, she placed her fingertips on the stem of the glass. As Merlin let go of the glass, she deliberately tipped it towards herself, spilling the contents down the front of her dress.

Even though she was prepared, she gasped a little as the cold water soaked the front of her gown. So did Merlin. Water sloshed all over her chest, down the center of her breasts, and all over the red fabric.

"You idiot!" Arthur shouted as he took in Morgana's wet dress and Merlin's shocked look.

Merlin just gawked at her, confused and aroused by the clinging power of water with satin.

Placating, she said innocently, "No, it was my fault, Arthur. I'm all thumbs tonight. Merlin did nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing wrong." She dabbed the damp fabric with her napkin, lingering on the swells of her breasts.

Uther's face darkened and he said, "You should change, Morgana,"

"Nonsense, it's nothing. We're nearly finished with dinner anyways," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It's only water after all."

Only water indeed. She looked down with a grin. The water had darkened the fabric, making it if not transparent, very obviously outlining every curve of her breast, every dip, every bump. Particularly her now chilled nipples.

It was a little uncomfortable to finish the rest of her meal with a damp gown, but it was absolutely worth it.

Merlin's eyes stayed on her the rest of the meal. He just wasn't able to look away anymore. He kept clenching his fists as his gaze darted from her mouth to her chest repeatedly.

She pretended she didn't notice. Payback was sweet indeed.

The King rose at the conclusion of the meal, Arthur and Morgana following. At the entrance to the hall, she stopped Arthur and said, "Oh no, I've forgotten my handkerchief. I'll be along in a moment…"

Arthur frowned and started, "But you didn't have a-"

"Go along, there's no need to wait," she said over her shoulder and walked briskly into the hall.

Merlin was leaning against the same pillar, scrubbing his hands over his flushed face.

"Enjoy the show, did you?" she said with a smirk.

His head whipped around at the sound of her voice. "How could I not?" he said, a slight tremor to his voice. "You did dress to impress."

"So you noticed?" she said sarcastically as she sauntered closer.

He back up a few feet and looked around. It felt nice to be the hunter, not the hunted.

"It was hard not to notice," he said, his voice thick with lust. He kept gazing down at her chest and backing up. His back came up against the other pillar and she pressed her advantage.

She trapped him against the pillar, every inch of her wet and silkily wrapped body plastered against him. A quiet groan escaped his lips, but he held her gaze.

She smiled kittenishly and leaned in, much as he'd done this afternoon. "You're _mine_, Merlin, I am _not_ yours. Remember that I'm the la belle dame sans merci and you're my all too willing servant. So keep that in mind the next time you try to corner me in some dark and private space. You might mark me, but I. Can. Make. You. Burn."

She unstuck herself from his hard body and started to walk out of the hall with a spring in her step and a sway in her hip.

At the entrance, she turned back and whispered loudly, "Oh and Merlin? There's no need to come visit me later. I'm sure you'll have enough on your _hands_."

With a toss of her hair, she was gone.

**FINIS**

**Oh snap, Morgana! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I loved outrageous and bold Morgana. She's such a vixen, isn't she? The taunts are so much fun to write. **

**Please review! It's been a hellish week around here (wedding planning and dissertation work does not mix well. Like Dots candy and Diet Dr. Pepper, no bueno). Review and share your favorite candy? Mine's Wild Berry Skittles. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks for the reviews! I'm still barely holding on here, but all the academic drama will settle down on Thursday (thank God). Enjoy this chapter!**

Chapter 7

He saw little of her over the next week. With Arthur's hunting trip, Gwaine recovering, and the melee fast approaching, they saw less of each other.

And she didn't invite him to her chambers. Not once since her little display with the red dress and the water.

Good God, he'd never been so aroused or so uncomfortable in his life. All he'd wanted to do was shove her down on the table, rip off that damp excuse for a dress, and make her scream his name over and over and over again.

Those thoughts even shocked him now. It was all so very primitive, like some type of deep-seated masculine urge like drinking into oblivion or fighting in a tavern. He thought himself above such base instincts. He wasn't a soft man by any means, but he was intellectual, thoughtful, kind, respectful. But there had been nothing respectful in his reaction, in the lust she created.

It was madness. It was obsession. And he hated how much he'd enjoyed it. Her satiny body pressing him against the hard pillar….he'd just gotten his body under control when she'd strutted back in to finish him off.

Even her little threat afterwards was more than enough to make him flee to his room to relieve some of the ache. Because she was right; she had made him burn. And he'd be damned it hadn't been scorched ever since.

Ever since that evening in great hall, she kept herself aloof, behaving with perfect respectability and politeness towards him. No more lecherous stares or overly displayed skin. It was almost as if nothing had happened in the stables or in her bedchambers. She was back to Lady Morgana and he was back to the lowly servant who filled her glass at the table. No more games. No more sass.

He wanted to be relieved. Maybe she'd gotten what she wanted from him, maybe that moment of victory was enough.

But he wasn't stupid. She was merely waiting for the right moment.

And he was anticipating it. More than he liked, more than he wanted. Because this last week had been dull. Other than Gwaine, nothing exciting had happened. He hated to admit it, but he….enjoyed this little game with Morgana.

He told himself if she were focused on this, she wouldn't be focused on ways to bring down Camelot. But that wasn't true, she still had plans, of that he knew.

So he waited. And kept Gwaine out of trouble.

Mostly. Or that's at least how they ended up in the council chambers cleaning boots. After the discussion of their fathers and families, they fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the scruffs and scratches from their brushes.

"There are certainly some beautiful women in Camelot," Gwaine said with a roguish smile. "I saw the most lovely woman in the streets yesterday."

"Yeah? What did she look like?" asked Merlin, a slight frown on his face. Could Gwaine mean Morgana?

A blissful smile came over Gwaine's face as he said, "She had beautiful dark curly hair. Dark eyes. Skin the color of hot chocolate."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he said with a smile, "Oh, so you've met Gwen?"

"Gwen: the name the angels must sing," waxed Gwaine.

He chuckled. Gwaine sure was a charmer. And a rogue. "She kissed me once," Merlin said with a devilish smile.

"She did?" asked Gwaine a bit surprised.

"Yeah, I'd been poisoned and nearly died. She was so overcome with joy that she kissed me right on the lips," he finished with a grin.

"Whoa, that must've been nice."

"I suppose. It was sweeter than anything else. Gwen's like a sister to me. She's not really my type," Merlin said truthfully.

"Oh? So who pray tell is your type?" Gwaine asked, giving Merlin a playful jab with his elbow.

"No one. I mean, no one in particular," he said quickly.

"No one? Really? All these beautiful women and there's not one you fancy? Not even a little bit?" teased Gwaine.

Sure, there had been Freya. But there had been women he'd fancied before. But he wasn't thinking of them now. It was Morgana who came to mind, Morgana who was tormenting his mind as per usual.

"Maybe. But it could never work…we're too different," he said a bit sadly. At one time he'd thought himself in love with Morgana. Maybe it had been some boyish infatuation as he'd told Morgana, but at the time…it had been the light of his life. The raw lust, the complicated sense of destiny, the similarities between them-alone, magical, caught in the oppression of Camelot and its tentative and beautiful promise of a future.

"Too different? What do you mean?" asked Gwaine.

"She's just…above me. Has different things planned for her life. We can never be together," Merlin said. It was true. Morgana was above him, but she also had plans for her life that weren't in line with his. Not anymore.

"Above you, eh?" Gwaine said. "This wouldn't be the elusive and stunningly beautiful Lady Morgana?"

Stunned by Gwaine's perception, he stuttered out, "I….what….no…that'd be crazy…I mean, she's…I'm…..no, it's not her. Definitely not her."

"The gentleman doth protest too much, me thinks," said Gwaine with a knowing smile.

"I…..I….it's complicated," he said as truthfully as he dared. He wouldn't reveal whatever it was he and Morgana were engaged in, but the situation between them was certainly complicated. And confusing. And maddening.

"So I've seen," said Gwaine with another knowing smile.

There was something in his tone, something he wasn't saying. "What do you mean 'so you've seen'?" Merlin asked.

"I've seen how she looks at you," Gwaine said stoutly.

"When?" he said, chuckling, disbelieving.

"In the courtyard yesterday," said Gwaine honestly.

Skeptical, he asked, "Did this happen while you were in your cups?"

"No, I actually leaving to go to the tavern. You were in the courtyard helping two knights and she came out a side door. She was staring at you," he said.

He scoffed. "You're crazy, mate. Morgana, I mean, the Lady Morgana thinks me below her notice. And to be honest, she loathes the very sight of me. You must've been mistaken." It couldn't be true. Morgana was too practiced, too aloof for such a reaction.

"Then why did her eyes follow you? I know what I saw. And I know what that look in a woman's eye means and it wasn't loathing. It's intrigue, it's passion, it's fire. And I can tell you, if that woman hates you, it's only because she wants you. She hates what she feels, she hates what she desires. But you, my friend, she definitely doesn't hate you. Quite the opposite actually."

He was more than a little affected by Gwaine's speech. He thought Morgana might feel…something more than she showed in their private battles. But he could never be sure if that was his own wishful thoughts.

But it didn't matter, did it? She had her own plans for Camelot, plans that didn't involve him. She wanted revenge, she wanted his humiliation, and she wouldn't let a little thing like her tangled feelings for a 'serving boy' get in the way of that. So he shrugged it off, he couldn't afford to think about Morgana's feeling like that. It was likely part of her game.

And he was playing to win, to save his own hide from her scathing touch and her cruel seduction. The stakes were too high, especially with her.

He forced himself to act nonchalant, no matter how unsettled he was by Gwaine's words. "Well, no matter. It can't happen. Nothing can come of it, surely you see that."

Gwaine looked at him with a mixture of pity and exasperation. "I do, but that's only because you're being a stubborn ass. Take what you can get and make it last until it can last forever. Because there's a….connection between you. I don't know what it is or what it's not, but even a blind man can see it. Well, barring royalty, of course. I can't imagine Prince Arthur would take too kindly to any type of relationship between you and the Lady Morgana," he said with a grin.

"You have no idea," replied Merlin.

**FINIS**

**So not the long chapter I had hoped to put forward. But who doesn't love Gwaine? He's such a charmer. Beneath the flippant exterior, I think there beats a romantic heart. He does seem to notice things as well, so I thought it fitting that he would pick up on the connection between Merlin and Morgana. (And the hair flip? So enchanting!)**

**And while I craft the next chapter (likely very slowly, sorry!) I'd like to make a plug for a few great stories and one-shots that do not have nearly enough the reviews:**

**"Equilibrium" by Tara1189 **

**(one of the best and most well written stories I've ever read on FF)**

**"Your Heart is a Mess" by Shady Love **

**(on the edge of my seat for every installment)**

**Both of these stories are in my favorites, so read and enjoy while I dream up sexy situations for Mergana and our friends across the pond get to see the S5 premiere!**

**Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Yes, I did finish my work for last week's academic reckoning. Now it's merely wedding plans (Tminus 3 weeks until the big day!) that drive me mad. **

**FYI: You might've noticed this already, but I'm trying very had to keep this story in the canon of S3. Obviously, I'm adding things to the margins of the canon but overall, the same events and situations will continue to take place. While I'm usually a fan of rewriting the Mergana narrative from S2, there's something decidedly more difficult and more fun about working this into the background of S3.**

Chapter 8

He scowled as he left the knights' chambers. Prats, both of them. He hated entitled knights, hated their stupid faces and their ridiculous orders.

But he mostly hated being powerless when he was really powerful. Hiding his magic, always taking the high rode, always playing the fool for men who were dumber than a box of rocks. That because of some accident of birth they were made superior in Camelot's court.

Bloody prats.

He walked on further, shuffling his feet as he tried to forget the whole incident.

Suddenly, the lilywhite hand clamped down on his arm and he was quickly pulled into yet another alcove.

Seeing her smirking face, he snatched his hand back and said angrily, "Bloody hell, woman! Do you have to keep handling me so cavalierly and pulling me into remote spots?"

"No, I don't have to do it but I do enjoy the reaction it gets," she said smiling.

Surly with her presumption and with the most recent events, he growled, "Get on with it, Morgana. I'm not in the mood for your games. What do you want?"

"Tonight," she said with a mocking hair flip. "Midnight. My chambers. And do try to be discreet. I have a reputation to maintain."

He smiled indulgently and said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "Obviously, I mean, it wouldn't do well for the King's ward to be caught in a secret rendezvous with a servant. It would be indecent, think of how the tongues would wag?"

She frowned but said, "Wear something comfortable. And don't be late."

Then she strutted away like she always did, her final words hanging in the air.

He milled those words around in his head for the rest of the day. _Wear something comfortable_. What could she possibly mean by that? What did she have planned tonight? Why would he need comfortable clothes? Did she want to…. 'engage in potentially licentious acts'?

He told himself he was being stupid. She would never want to…do that with him. This was all a game. She'd push him to the limit, prime and tease, but never would she offer him anything resembling affection or intimacy. And sex? That was something she'd never offer…and something he'd never take, right?

But the conversation with Gwaine came back to him at that moment. Could Morgana actually harbor feelings for him beyond disdain and hatred? Could she actually be able to look past her revenge and feel….something deeper for him? What was it Gwaine had said? Something about taking what he could get until it could last forever?

He'd initially scoffed at his friend's words. Gwaine was a romantic. And more often than not he had ale in his ears. So he'd scoffed some more.

But as midnight drew nearer, he thought Gwaine might be wiser than he acted. Because there was a connection between them. And because he couldn't help some of the feelings bubbling to the surface. Such complex, tangled feelings. Hatred and passion. Lust and anger. All of it seemed to be concentrated on one tiny slip of a woman. One who drove him to outrageous heights of arousal while killing him slowly with her deceitful actions.

He hated her. He wanted her. He didn't know what to do with her.

But she didn't want him to be late. At half past eleven, he rose from the makeshift bed he'd spread on the floor a few hours ago. Gwaine was still recovering from his ordeal from the first tavern. Not that it had stopped him from drinking himself into a stupor last night. But Merlin didn't begrudge him the bed, it would make it easier for his friend to heal-from a sleepless night at the tavern and from the previous brawl.

_Dress comfortably_, she had said, so he left off his belt and neckerchief. But he grabbed his coat and donned his boots. As he was making to open the door, he heard a voice behind him whisper amusedly, "Merlin? Where are you headed at such an hour?"

"Nowhere, just out. I should…check on Arthur…the melee's in a few days. You know these royals…" he stammered out a bit awkwardly.

"I see. Well, stay out as long as you need. I'll cover for you with Gaius… if say, you get somehow unavoidably detained by…someone," Gwaine said with a suggestive wink.

"Well….I ….that is…"he said unevenly. How much should he reveal to Gwaine? How much had he guessed?

"Stop stuttering and get out of here. Your lady awaits. And with the way her eyes were devouring you, she doesn't seem like the patient kind," said Gwaine, rolling over to his stomach.

He said nothing in reply but snuck out of the physician's chambers.

It was really no more dangerous than any other night. There were a few times where he had to duck behind a pillar or into an alcove, but nothing that he couldn't handle. It seemed that everyone was still exhausted from their journey to Camelot, there weren't many knights or servants about.

He tapped softly on her door, feeling the same sense of dread and anticipation that he always felt on nights like this.

She opened the door and he walked inside, trying not to act as nervous as he felt. Being this close to her, in a private setting was doing strange things to him.

"I hear there's a new guest in the physician's chambers," she said mysteriously, moving towards the seating area.

"You mean Gwaine?" Merlin said conversationally.

"Oh, is that the name of the particularly hunky man who's enjoying your hospitality? He is rather unforgettable," she said with a smirk.

"I suppose you would notice something like that," he said. He felt a quick flare of anger at her words. She thought Gwaine attractive? Maybe there was something particularly….nice looking about him, but really, he didn't seem like Morgana's type….

"My oh my, I know that look. Jealousy, pure green-eyed jealousy," she said.

He scoffed. "Me? Jealous of Gwaine? Not in the slightest."

"Oh really? I mean, all those muscles and that hair, it's enough to make most women swoon," she said, dramatically fanning herself.

"Then why aren't you here with him?" he said tartly.

She raised an eyebrow seductively. "I don't have any revenge to act upon Gwaine."

"Oh really? So he's a gorgeous new man here who has no understanding of exactly what a traitor you are, and you've just, what? Decided to leave him alone?"

"Something like that," she said.

He smiled smugly. "That proves it then; you want to be mine."

Nothing short of rage burned in her face as grabbed his wrist and spat back, "Mine, mine, mine, it's all about possession with you, isn't it? Like I'm some type of object for you to own?"

"Look who's talking. You're the one with the ownership issues. You grab my wrist at every turn, pull me into alcoves, wear outrageous gowns to see me squirm. It's all about possession with you, too. All about controlling me, manipulating my reactions, my emotions for your own pleasure. I'm merely taking what's offered in this little game," he said.

"What's offered? Really? And when did I ever offer you my neck to brand?" she said, pointing to the fading mark on her neck. Seeing the place where he'd marked her, where he'd put his mouth against her trembling throat….lust surged through him. It was elemental-_Mine. _

He shook his head to clear the haze threatening to engulf him. "I paid for that indiscretion, didn't it?"

She smiled. "Yes, yes, you did."

"Then let's get back to the point: if Gwaine is so gorgeous, then why are you here with me? What is it you want from _me _tonight, my lady?" he said with an arrogant raise of his chin. It was she who had called him here and he'd be damned if she would forget it because of some glib tongued man with a nice body. Ok, well, she wanted him here nonetheless.

"I want you in my bed," she said mysteriously.

"Excuse me?" he said incredulously. Surely, he'd misunderstood. She couldn't mean….that wasn't what he'd expected….she wouldn't want…

"I said we're going to bed. Together," she repeated, a smirk playing over her lips at his obvious confusion.

"And by bed together you mean….what exactly?" he said. She did like to play with words. It would be just her idea of fun to make him think that they were going to…

She backed up towards the bed, a place she'd never ventured while he was here. Slowly she removed the wrapper and sat on the edge. "You needn't look so alarmed…or so aroused. I merely want you to stay the night with me. Sleep in bed next to me," she said coyly, patting the bed beside her.

"Oh," he said, dumbly staring at the bed.

"Don't look so disappointed," she purred.

"I'm not. I'm relieved. Gwaine's taken my bed, so I'll get some decent sleep here," he said, determined not to let her read his emotions.

She slid under the covers and moved over to the side closest to the window. Patting the empty space, she said, "Hurry up."

He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, removing his boots and his jacket. He nearly flopped down into bed when an idea struck him. He reached for the hem of his shirt and said over his shoulder. "Do you mind? I usually sleep without my shirt."

She gulped but said lightly, "Sure…I mean, that's fine..."

He smiled secretly to himself and pulled the shirt over his head. She didn't gasp, but a sound escaped from her lips. It was halfway between a sigh and a soft moan. He smiled triumphantly before he wiggled under the covers and settled into his spot.

The bed was luxurious to say the least. Silk sheets, feathery pillows, soft mattress, a far cry from the rickety little cot he had in the backroom. If she kept her distance, like she was now, he might actually enjoy this.

As if she heard that last thought, she suddenly moved closer and cuddled herself right up next to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and her palm covered his heart. He gritted his teeth and cursed his shirtless act of rebellion. Now he could feel the heat of her skin everywhere.

Every inch of her silk wrapped body was pressed against his side. Her soft breasts were driving him mad, pressed every so delicately against his upper stomach. He swore he could feel her hard nipples ….to think that one thin layer of fabric separated them….did she sleep with drawers? Or did she forgo those as well…the naked triangle of her sex…could that be pressed against his thigh?

Oh God, he'd underestimated her. His body was hot, hard, every inch of him assaulted by Morgana's touch and the press of her body. Her hair spread over his arm, her spicy breath ruffled the hair on his chest. He would go mad tonight.

She sighed dreamily and said tauntingly near his ear, "I hope you sleep well, Merlin."

He clenched his teeth to prevent a hot retort, or worse, a retreat.

But he wouldn't back down from the underlying message and challenge of her words-he wouldn't sleep well this night.

Not at all.

**FINIS**

_**Though the night was made for loving,**_

_**And the day returns too soon,**_

_**Yet we'll go no more a roving**_

**_By the light of the moon_. **

**~Byron, "So, we'll go no more a roving"**

**Obviously my poetic insinuation says that this isn't over. Please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Ok, so this is the last chapter you'll get before the wedding (9 days), which gets closer by the minute. I need my beauty rest, and a thousand little, obnoxious details are claming all my attention (Gretna Green's looking pretty good right about now). But I won't leave you hanging. Enjoy!**

Chapter 9

He had to conjure the most disgusting images to banish his arousal. Wounds that he'd seen in his capacity as physician's assistant. The one time he'd walked in on Gaius coming out of the bath. Uther enthusiastically kissing that troll.

It seemed every moment he got his body under some semblance of control, she would stir beside him in her sleep, pushing her warm breasts harder against his side. And every time he would stiffen right back up.

He would've thought it purposeful, except for the soft snores that rhythmically came from her mouth. When the images of things he'd seen wouldn't work, he started to imagine scenarios that were just downright revolting. Gaius having sex. Arthur having sex. Gaius and Arthur having sex together. Yuck.

Eventually he must've fallen asleep because a moan of distress woke him some hours later. It was still dark outside, maybe three in the morning. Some time during the night, she had moved to her back, although her head still rested on his arm.

Her forehead was bathed in sweat and she continued to moan and thrash from side to side. It was frightening to see her like this, prisoner to the visions in her mind. While he knew she had nightmares, the traitorous bracelet still dangling at her wrist should've kept her safe from such terrors. It was unsettling to see her with her face all scrunched up in distress, her eyes unseeing behind closed eyelids.

Not wanting to startle her, he reached over a gentle hand and softly stroked her forehead. He had thought to wake her, but he couldn't be sure of his reception. Comforting seemed like the best option. "Shhhh, it's ok, Morgana," he said quietly, his fingers brushing over her face.

She quieted a little so he kept going. "Shhhh, you're safe now, you're safe," he whispered reassuringly.

He moved closer, his arm now snuggling her against his body. Her thrashing stopped, although she shivered in the cold sweat. "That's it, calm down…"

Her breathing evened out and the moans became more infrequent until they stopped completely. She leaned into his touch like a kitten anxious to be pet.

"It's ok," he whispered again, still stroking her face. She sighed a little and moved closer into his embrace. Her face visibly relaxed and she went back to snoring.

She was beautiful like this. No cosmetic touches, no cunning smirks, just sleeping like a normal human being. Lovely and adorable. He'd told her that she wouldn't earn his tenderness, but here he was, stroking her forehead and whispering words of comfort.

He wanted to chide himself for such weakness but it was difficult to do so in this moment. She looked so like the Morgana that he used to know, none of the emotions on her face giving evidence of her more recent treachery. This was the woman who helped his mother stand after her worthless appeal to the King, the one who gave bread out to starving people once the curse was upon Camelot (even if it meant she went without), and the one who bullied Arthur into finding Gwen.

That was who he wanted to be with now. Not some traitorous woman who manipulated her position in order to get even with Camelot. Was the woman he used to know still there? Was it possible for her to reappear? He didn't know anymore. Already in a few short weeks so much had happened between them, so many acts that couldn't be undone. So many things he'd done in the last year too.

He sighed as he finally lay back against the pillows, her body curving into his once again, his arm still holding her close. It felt nice. Not just erotic or sexual, but comforting, like they both needed something from each other tonight.

He didn't know what that was or could be. He drifted back to sleep trying to figure that out.

_She saw herself standing on the highest balcony in Camelot, her head wearing a jeweled crown, a proud and authoritative tilt to her chin. _

"_I'll give you one more chance to swear your allegiance to me," she said loudly to the row of knights lined up in the courtyard below._

_Sir Leon smiled arrogantly and said"Long live the King!"_

_Anger flared in her face as she said with a sneer,"Perhaps this will help you change your mind!"_

_She raised her arm and suddenly dropped it. The signal was clear as the archers turned their crossbows away from the row of knights to the crowd gathered in the citadel square. _

_Arrows fired and fell on the young and old, man and woman alike, having no care or consideration for anything. _

_The Queen just smiled. _

A touch, some incoherent words, and gentle voice soothed her. She didn't know who it was; the voice was distant, although strangely familiar. She moved closer, desperate for more of the calming presence.

"You're safe now, you're safe," the voice said and she felt it. She couldn't be the monster from the vision; she would never be like that. She would never harm innocent people.

She snuggled into the comforting arms. It wasn't real; she would never be such a tyrant. Deep sleep soon followed.

_Something hard was pressed against her bottom. She pressed back, curious and confused as to what it could possible be. He moaned into her ear as his arm pulled her closer. A delicious tremor coiled in her mouth descended on her neck, his heavy breath fanning her strangely hot skin. He nibbled on her neck, sucking and licking the sensitive skin. The stubble from his chin was an erotic counterpoint to the warm suction of his lips. Sliding the strap of her nightgown off, his mouth moved down the slope of her neck and onto her shoulder. She shivered, not from cold but from surprise, from arousal. Her body felt heavy, flooded with an damp heat that seeped into her bones. She let out a soft moan in response to his touch, circling her hips into his._

_She reached back her arm and ran her fingers through his silky hair, holding his head against her shoulder. His hand started to rub circles on her stomach as she arched into his touch. His thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts, her nipples contracting with the promise of his touch. _

_His hands swept upwards, cupping her full breasts in his hands. She gasped, the sensation was so erotic, so unfamiliar, so sensual. Fingers teased her, moving around the very spot where she wanted him most to touch. Then he pinched both the tips with his fingers._

_She gasped again as needles of pleasure shot straight to her core. It was so good. He rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, every tug sending another shiver through her body. She felt him press harder against her body, his arousal rhythmically thrusting against her buttocks. _

_She moaned as he brushed his thumb back and forth over the silk, using the material to spike her desire. Then suddenly, he pulled her shoulder back, pushing her back flat on the bed. He was laying half on top of her, his leg thrown over hers._

_His mouth moved lower to her collarbones, his tongue playing in the hollows. She burned everywhere he touched as his naked chest rubbed against her arm. But it wasn't what she wanted. He moved lower, his hot mouth inching closer and closer to the low slung neckline._

_She was panting with anticipation, what would he do next? As he reached the top edge of her nightgown, his tongue slid under the material to flick over the puckered edge of her nipple. She arched into his mouth, needing more. _

_She moaned loudly as he did it again, only this time a little closer to the tip. Was this a dream? It felt so real, every sensation heightened, every touch so vivid-_

"Morgana," he said hoarsely, desperately as if he couldn't stop himself from saying her name. And with one word, he broke the spell of sleep.

Her eyes fluttered open. It wasn't a dream. It was stark reality with Merlin's hands all over her body. His fingers slid down the side of her silk covered thigh and grabbed the hem, slowly inching it up.

She didn't know what was happening to her. She didn't care.

"Kiss me," she breathed, her half lidded eyes finding his in the sparsely lit room. This wasn't part of the game, wasn't part of a carefully crafted seduction plot. She wanted his lips on hers, wanted to feel for herself the heated sensation of his mouth, wanted to the close to distance between them. She could practically taste him now, his spicy breath against her lips, his tongue against hers. His lips were so soft on her skin, so deliciously torturous. She needed to kiss him.

Heat flared in his desire heavy eyes as his head moved up to oblige her command. She wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted his kiss. Their breathes mingled, a mere inch separated them as her eyes started to flutter shut and her breath started to became even more erratic.

Then shock suffused his face. Disbelief quickly followed.

"No," he said, a frown of confusion on his face. "No, Morgana," he said more firmly. His voice was husky, aroused and not nearly awake from the blissful dream that had them rolling around on her bed.

He sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, giving her his back. He quickly donned his boots and pulled the shirt over his head with jerky clumsiness. She quickly pulled up the sleeves of her nightgown, feeling all at sea with the sudden curtailment of desire.

She saw his shoulders lift as he took a deep breath. He stood up and turned to look at her.

His face was hard; strength etched in every line. "I have to go," he said coldly. "It's nearly dawn. I can't be seen here. You do have a reputation to maintain."

She was angry to hear her words repeated. Remembering the game, she tried for a condescending tone, but her emotions got the better of her as she asked. "So that was nothing to you? You didn't feel anything? You don't feel anything now?

"No," he said evenly, meeting her gaze.

Then she asked the question she wanted to know the most. "Then why did you comfort me? Why do you even care if you feel nothing?" She was sure it was him mumbling soothing words to her, comforting her in the throes of her darkest nightmare.

She felt foolish, her lips still tingling from that precipice of a kiss. Her pride was wounded by his rejection, but it wasn't about the game. An needle of pain shot through her body. How could he hold her like that and then just as quickly look at her with such contempt?

"I'm a kind person, I can't stand to see anyone suffering, but that doesn't change a damn thing. I feel nothing, Morgana, nothing at all for you," he said stoutly. There was no hesitation; he meant every word. "You've chosen your side, so now you're just somebody that I used to know."

She just gaped at him, still spinning with his rejection, his contempt, his obvious indifference.

"Now, I've more than met the task for the night. Good day, my lady," he said, as if he'd merely been tending to her fire for the night or sweeping her chambers.

She nodded, stunned at this sudden turn of events.

She heard the door shut quietly and she resisted the urge to throw the closest object at it. Throwing herself back onto the bed, she roughly brushed away an errant tear with her knuckle. Where was her hardness? Where was her ruthlessness? The behaviors she wore as armor against this Camelot and Merlin's cruel torture was strangely absent in this moment.

She cursed him. She cursed herself. But mostly, she cursed this stupid game that she'd started. Because it appeared she was losing, badly.

**Please review!**

**So after a long Sunday afternoon of wedding stuff and a huge quantity of Pepsi Max (they aren't kidding about the extra caffeine)…. I watched the first two episodes of S5. There's something quite pathetic about a 27 year old "serious academic" who's about the get married screaming like her former 12 year old schoolgirl self at N'Sync concert (oh, I went there). Seriously, a good 10 minutes before and consistently during both episodes. What was I to do? There was a lot of gratuitous shirtlessness, yah! Now I used to go the less shady route for _Merlin_ access open to us unfortunate Americans-you know, wait nearly an entire year after the next season has finished to finally get the season before. However, after a very lengthy letter-writing campaign to the BBC about the lapsed seasons, I went to YouTube, where all my prayers for efficiency were answered. **

**Please review! Last chapter had the most reviews for this story so far! See, that's how I get you, erotic scenes and cliffhangers, not to mention confessional tales of my Midwestern life. You're welcome. **

**SPOILER ALERT:**

**What's with Morgana *$#&ing up her dragon? Although it might not be her fault…but seriously, what an irresponsible pet owner, am I right? And the new girl in Camelot? Not cool, writers. So. Not. Cool.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm back and I'm an old married lady now. The wedding was lovely. I've gained nearly 10lbs (I kid not) in my first week of marriage, owing to the leftover candy, cookies, and sweets that I'd denied myself up until the big day. My favorite moment: walking down the aisle to Purcell's "Rondeau" (it's also the original of the song that Elizabeth and Darcy dance to in the 2005 P&P) and sobbing so hard and happily that I had to remember to smile. I'm a cryer. Like a Hallmark commercials and sad stories about kittens cryer. **

**Anyways, enjoy! **

_And can you kneel before the King And say I'm clean, I'm clean?_

_A white blank page and a swelling rage, rage_

_You did not think when you sent me to the brink, to the brink_

_~Mumford & Sons, "White Blank Page" (those guys slay me)_

**Chapter 10**

The melee happened. Gwaine saved Athur. Morgana had looked on from the stands.

After their last interlude, she had gone from polite coolness to outright annoyance. Every look she gave him was full of pure hatred, every smirk full of mocking amusement. Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared. And she certainly didn't invite him back to her room.

It rankled him more than he would've liked. Not that he wanted her attention. Indeed, he was happy to have the same equilibrium back in their relationship. For several moments that night, his carefully constructed boundaries had come crashing down. He couldn't resist helping her, couldn't resist comforting her after the nightmare.

And early the next morning, well he couldn't help that either. He thought was dreaming. His body had merely reacted to her nearness, to her voluptuous little bottom pressed so closely to his groin. He didn't even know what was happening, he'd never slept next to a woman, let alone tried to seduce her while he wasn't fully awake. But lust like wildfire spread through him and he didn't want to stop. Didn't want to stop giving her pleasure.

It had felt like the most elaborate, most erotic, nearly wet dream he'd ever had. But when she'd spoken that command, he'd frozen. _Kiss me._ Because he was seconds away from losing. And because it always went back to the game with her, her response yet another calculated moment to force his hand. Suddenly everything had felt so very wrong.

Of course she didn't want to do that with him. She'd said as much before they hoped into the tempting deathtrap that was her featherbed. She was a seductress, an actress and she didn't want him. Not like that. And with that one command, he would've lost his upper hand, lost the entire game. _Kiss me_, she had begged. But it was all an act. All a part of her plan to befuddle his body so she could trick his mind.

So he'd done what he'd always done when things with her got difficult; he left her alone. Maybe he'd wounded her pride, although he doubted it. She was just angry because the game was still going on and he wasn't her little puppet, because he wouldn't be seduced by some hoarsely whispered command in the throes of a passionate experience. She had a motive behind her every action, he wouldn't be seduced into thinking that it was lust. So he avoided her.

However, his trip with Arthur had changed all that, the Crystal Cave had changed all of that. Because now that everything was happening-her rearing horse, the bejeweled dagger-he had to prevent that future.

Which was exactly why he was hidden in this spot near her room. After the last time she'd caught him spying on her, he learned to be extra careful.

And just like the Crystal Cave had predicted, she came out of her room, crimson cloak billowing with each step. She was going to kill the King this night. And he was here to stop it.

Soundlessly he crept out of his hiding spot, following her at a safe distance. She turned the corner down the long corridor.

It happened in slow, horrifying detail. He abruptly closed the door, the candelabra fell into her, she stepped back to avoid the fire, and she tumbled down the stairs.

"No," he shouted hoarsely. "No."

He came upon her, her broken body at the bottom of the stone staircase. It was an accident. He'd merely wanted to stop her from entering that room, not knock her down the stairs. She'd misteped. It was an accident, an unintentional consequence of his interference.

"No," he whispered as he bounded down the stairs. Pulling back the hood of her cape, he saw her pale face and a trickle of blood running down her temple. "No," he whispered desperately, using his pocket-handkerchief to dab the wound. She didn't even flinch.

This couldn't be happening, not again. How often was he doomed to see her like this? How many times would he be forced to injure or kill her in order to stop her?

His mind raced as he brushed the hair away from her face. He knew that he needed to get help, knew that these moments were precious. He didn't want to leave her alone though, maybe he could call for help….but was anyone about at this hour? Sure, there were always guards, but would anyone be close enough to hear him? He was torn-run to get help or stay with her?

With the deafening silence around him, he knew that he needed to get help rather than call for it. How was he to explain this anyway? A midnight stroll and he'd found the Lady Morgana all but pushed down the stairs?

Arthur. He needed to get Arthur. His care and concern for Morgana would prevent him from asking questions, his chambers were just around the corner. Arthur would help her. Arthur would know what to do.

He felt a stab of guilt, of pain as he glanced back at her increasingly pale face. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He needed to get Arthur. Now.

Yet he couldn't move.

It was stupid really. He wasn't a prince, and she certainly wasn't a princess. This wasn't some fairytale where the beautiful lady slept until her charming and brave lover came to save her. She was bleeding from a wound to the head, an injury he'd all but given her.

Not to mention, she was dangerous, cruel, mean, and downright traitorous, injured on her way to do even more destructive things to the kingdom. But seeing her so vulnerable, seeing her brought low once again by his actions, it was more than he could resist. Just this once.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Gently, softly, barely pressing his lips to hers. He still didn't believe in fairytales (he'd seen too much evil already) but he hoped that this time, he might be able to save her.

"Just don't die, Morgana," he commanded thickly. A single tear ran down his face and fell onto her very white cheek.

Then he ran as fast as his legs would carry him to Arthur's room.

* * *

He hated everyone else's pain. Why was it that Gwen and Arthur, even the cursed Uther was allowed to show their emotions whereas he could not? Why was he denied such a luxury?

But then, he knew why. Because he had put her on that bed. He had thrown her down the stairs. He had broken her body beyond medicinal repair. No matter how accidental, how noble his causes were, he couldn't close his eyes and not see her pale face. He couldn't go to his room with seeing the life dwindle from her. It was like a fog around his life, around his home. Death, it stalked Morgana. And he could do nothing. Because he had stopped her. This was her punishment, he couldn't change that? Or could he?

So once again he'd changed the future, mess with fate and destiny, and all those scary words that Kilgarrah muttered.

He'd done that for her. Broken a nearly scared vow to his kin. Used his magic to save her. And for what? Morgana's continued hatred?

She was so beautiful in that moment. He never thought he'd rejoice to see simple color flooding her face and breath filling her body. After all the anguish, the indecision, the pain of everyone else's grief and his own soul-tearing regret, it was nice to save her life rather than take it. He owed her this. He owed himself this action. Damn the future, damn the consequences, just this once, he wanted to make the absolute right choice.

And their little game was still afoot, wasn't it? He certainly didn't want to win by default.

Strangely that lie comforted him. Because he didn't want to examine the truth. The messy, guilty, dark truth that he really didn't want her to die. Not now. Not ever.

* * *

Rage ate at her insides. Morgause's voice echoed in her head, but it meant nothing. She would kill Uther, would make him pay for his many sins.

The dagger in her hand felt like power, it felt like it had been crafted for her hand. And with Arthur's gold, it likely had. Too bad he'd find that dagger in his…their father's black heart.

She was just sheathing the blade when the door banged open. Merlin stood there panting.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. He had absolutely no right to barge in on her room unannounced! And now! As if their brief moments together meant anything, he'd made that perfectly clear. Which she agreed with, of course.

"Arthur sent me to look after you. He's worried about the intruder," he said. There was sweat on his brow.

"I don't need you," she spat and meant it. She didn't need Merlin's ruthless determination, his wry sense of humor, his blasted loyalty to a broken kingdom, his tough choices, or his bumbling excuses. She needed to leave. She needed to kill Uther.

"He was quite insistent," he said, moving to block her way. She didn't need him, not tonight, not ever. He was just another obstacle in her way.

He reached down and grabbed her wrist, their small battle of wills turned into action. His grip wasn't hard but it was commanding, it was preventing her from completing her task. But it was more than that, it was possessive, it was all about possession with him. All about marking her with his hands and his mouth, all about making her _his_. As if she needed to be another man's pawn. Goloris. Uther. Now Merlin, all these men claiming or not claiming her, deciding how worthy she was to be _theirs_.

It sparked something inside of her. Suddenly it wasn't Merlin, it was Uther, standing in front of her, putting his hands around her throat. The throat of his daughter, the throat of his own child.

"Get out of my way," she growled. She reacted. She wasn't a doll to be fought over. And while she might be weak in body, she wasn't weak in power. Her eyes glowed gold and Merlin was thrown back against the wall with a satisfying thud. He settled to the ground, alive but unconscious. The candles ignited the curtains.

She strode to the door and opened it, looking back at his body near the tapestry. She steeled herself against the small wave of remorse, of sympathy.

This wasn't about Merlin; this was about revenge, pure and simple. Uther had seduced her mother, treated her like a petulant and unlovable daughter all her life. Now was his time to pay and no one was going to stand in her way. No one.

_I can make you burn_, she'd once taunted to Merlin. Although it was a different kind of heat, it was too bad he hadn't believed her. But she knew he'd escape her room; he'd wake up in a few minutes, safe and unhurt like always.

She couldn't help casting one last lingering look on his face. She wouldn't be back. After killing the King, there'd be nothing for her to come back to. Not Merlin, not her fanciful life, not Gwen or Arthur.

She'd go to Morgause. But only after she completed her task. She threw her hood over her head and walked out the door.

Merlin wasn't her problem tonight. And he wouldn't be again.

**FINIS**

**A kiss? Who saw that coming? And from Merlin too? Surprise, surprise. So I couldn't resist playing around with these little moments between them, particularly the scene where Morgana throws Merlin against the wall and then leaves the room. I've often thought her last glance back was a decidedly cold and callous move, but after rewatching, the camera really doesn't get close enough on her face to prove that point. Plus, there isn't really a smirk when she actually throws him against the wall. It's more of a "I'm surprised that I have that much power" sort of smile, which makes sense as I think it's the first time she's uses that maneuver (although not the last).**

**Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Whoa, whoa, whoa there-who said anything about this ending with that last chapter? What a terribly depressing tale that would be? And no more sexy times? Come now, you should know me better than that. As many of the other reviewers pointed out, I do end every chapter with the word "FINIS"-yes, from Middle English, derived from the Latin verb "to end". However, I use it as the end of a chapter, not the end of a story. Actually, I don't have a signature word for the end of an entire story, except that I make sure that FF puts "complete" in the story stats. FINIS is also a little homage to Jane Austen (depending on your edition, she did it at the end of a volume or an entire novel).**

**So, make yourself a nice cup of tea, sit back, and read on. There's still a lot of S3 to get through. And quite a lot of unexplored sexual territory.**

_You gotta know that this is real, baby why you wanna fight it?  
It's the one thing you can choose_

_I knew that when I met you, I'm not gonna let you runaway  
I knew that when I held you, I wasn't lettin' go_

_~ "Runaways" by the Killers_

Chapter 11

He sat in the saddle, silently fuming. Arthur was usually a prat. But this, well, this whole invite-Morgana-like-it's-the-good-old-days thing really took the bloody cake. Yeah, the prat cake, which was probably plum, Arthur's favorite. .

They'd barely been on the road for an hour and already he was thinking of way to get her to turn around. This could not be happening. She'd ruin everything. The situation was dangerous enough without adding the potentially explosive consequences of her presence.

Bad enough that she had him feeling like some sullen teen.

"No, thank you," she had said just yesterday with subtle coolness and a quick movement to guard her goblet. It was a taunt, a politely spoken one, but a taunt nonetheless. And it had found its mark with poisonous precision.

As if he needed to be reminded of his past indiscretions when every moment in her presence was reminder enough-her bad behavior, her traitorous turn to the dark side, he was in part responsible for that.

He bit back a curse as he glanced over at her, drowning out Arthur's manly speech about protecting Gwen.

The rest of the ride, they took turns frowning at each other. She'd grown more…distant over the last week, if that was even possible. He knew she knew about her true paternity, so it wasn't a surprising reaction. But there was a deeper coldness over her, something that radiated from her very being. It wasn't that the fight was done, indeed, if anything, it was still burning strong.

But it was almost as if she had frozen her heart entirely, like she had two switches-silly, laughing King's ward or chilly witch. Neither was very comforting.

And she'd kept him even more at arm's length. It was almost as if she'd forgotten their little game. He thought he'd be relieved but…those moments with her were so tangibly real. He felt like he was more himself during that time than he was elsewhere. Honesty in his words (except for his big secret), honesty in his emotions…sort of. At least, his passion was honest, even if he wouldn't admit it to her. Strange that Morgana could bring that out in him.

Maybe she too was tired of playing her role as the loving ward? Maybe she too craved some of the realness that sparked between them? Maybe those moments were real for her too?

But who was he kidding? She had other plans, plans that obviously made their game moot. Besides, she always manipulated the fire between them to lick at his heels. Her passion, her reaction was all part of the game. How naïve of him to think such things honest. There was nothing honest about Morgana anymore. This quest proved that well enough.

He didn't want her here. Not one bit. She was a distraction he couldn't afford, for more reasons than he dared explain.

By the time they stopped for the night, the snarky frowns between he and Morgana had worn down some of his initial annoyance. Maybe he'd missed this, maybe a little.

And he tried to keep up his enthusiasm for Arthur and Gwen's sake. Apparently they were having a great time, and they did deserve it. Well, Gwen at least.

But when Arthur had shooed him away and he had dumbly muttered "the wolves", he felt his enthusiasm die.

He located her nearly a mile away from camp, the silence of the forest pressing on them both.

She looked up and immediately a frown creased her brow. "What do you want, Merlin?"

He acted nonchalant, nonplussed to be stuck out here with her. "Arthur sent me. Wanted to make sure you were ok," he said casually.

"Very thoughtful of him," she murmured.

"He cares for you. You know, Gwen too. They're your friends. They've always been loyal to you," he said, emphasizing the last word. Did she still have a conscience? Was she still capable of feeling sympathy for anyone but herself?

"Why are you telling me this?" she said stubbornly.

"Because I don't understand how anyone would want to hurt their friends," he said sternly.

"No, you just poison them," she spat back, a look of so much pain and vulnerability in her eyes, that he couldn't meet her gaze. He looked down at his boots, feeling the same sense of shame that crept in at moments like this.

She was right. He had poisoned his friend, he had poisoned Morgana. What had made her so different? What had made her someone he couldn't save? Couldn't even try to save? Was it her affection for Morgause? Or was it the prophecies, the destiny of which Kilgarrah told him?

Or was it something else? Was it fear that had driven him to that action? Was he terrified of her power-her power to destroy? Her power over him? Was that action one of vulnerability instead of necessity?

"You would do well, Merlin to stay out of things that do not concern you," she said brusquely.

"Oh but they do concern me. They're my friends too. And I'll do whatever it takes to protect them," he said steelily. He meant every word. He would stop her. He'd done it before, he'd do it again.

She sauntered over to stand in front of him. There was begrudging respect in the eyes that met his. Also anger, but she was a little impressed by his words, his threats. "I would expect nothing less," she said, her lilting voice and full lips caressing every syllable. But her face became cold again, the hot emotion repressed behind a face of icy steel.

Then she threw the wood in her arms at his feet and walked off.

He turned to watch her go, the few logs she had gathered covering his boots.

It seemed like a gauntlet. And one he was happy to pick it up.

He quickly scooped up the wood in one arm and ran after her marching form. Catching up and walking in step with her, he said tauntingly, "You know, I remember when you weren't a bully, Morgana."

She stopped at that and turned to face him. "And I remember when you weren't a murderer, Merlin."

"Well you started it, didn't you?" he said. He did feel sorry for this actions, he'd apologized, hadn't he? But she needed to take some responsibility-Morgause had put the curse on her, not he.

Outrage showed in every muscle on her face. "Started it? How did I ever start something that would result in you poisoning me? You're a murderer, and now you're a liar," she said angrily as she began to walk off.

He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him, pulling her up against his chest. "What I did was wrong, but you changed, you made your own choices after that. Choices that you're making now.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm here to save Gwen's brother," she said with a shuttered glance.

"I'm not a simpleton. I know you have a plan here," he said with a hard glance. Her eyes were crackling with some dangerous emotion he couldn't name. She was so close, her body was pressed right against his. And he reacted, like the simpleton he just said he wasn't, he reacted to the feel of her so close.

She pulled her arm out of his and took a step back. "Why don't you stick to what you're good at, Merlin-carrying firewood and fetching horses. And stay the hell out of my way," she said with a smug smile.

Anger, irrational anger swept through him. He dropped the wood and pushed her against the trunk of a large oak, his body quickly following. He reveled in the small gasp that slipped from her lips. She wasn't unaffected. Maybe it was real, maybe her reaction was real.

That thought made me feel reckless, made him feel powerful.

She frowned and her eyes flashed as she said through gritted teeth, "Get off of me, I'll scream and Arthur will run you through where you stand."

He responded by worming his arms around her back and pulling her fully into his embrace and tilting his pelvis into hers. The fit was perfect, how was it that he hadn't noticed how well their bodies notched together? They hadn't been this close, not in the Great Hall when she'd taunted him, and not in the stables before that. He could count every one of her eyelashes.

His eyes flickered down to her lips and his breath caught. She was so lovely, even pissed off at him. But she was realizing just how close they were, she was feeling the same sense of rightness, of perfection that came with the position.

"I don't want you here, I don't want you on this trip. But you came anyways, so don't runaway now, sweetheart. Because I'm better at other things than carrying firewood and fetching horses. And I'll prove it," he said.

**FINIS**

**I know, I know! (cowers under desk) I'm such a tease. But I promise to update sooner rather than later on this next chapter. We're going to switch perspectives and get back in Morgana's head. God, I love these two. I think I have some type of Mergana fever because these two are just burning me up. Any remedies? Aside from S5? Sadly, the youtube channel that I was viewing was suddenly shut down by the BBC or Shine. **

**How about this-crazy theories on how Merlin and Morgana will get together? Please review! **


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

She shouldn't have worn pants. That was her second thought after Merlin's lips descended on her neck like a starving man on a banquet.

Properly, her first was of complete outrage. The second was that the sensations his marauding mouth evoked were amazing.

She wanted to protest, wanted to say something, anything to make this madness stop. But she couldn't. Rather, she didn't want to. Because she was a part of this madness, and she wanted to be consumed by it.

And because it felt _so damn good_. For the first time in over week, she _felt something. _

Ever since her true parentage had been revealed and her botched attempt to murder said parent, she'd gone numb. Like some type of hollow creature, something empty, save for the burning rage that quaked her soul. She had one goal, one purpose-to make Uther watch as she took over Camelot.

But Merlin's mouth on her skin, the way he was devouring her…it was as if all the coldness that was slowly stealing over her was gone. Because she was so hot, so burning with passion, with Merlin. He made her feel human again. Weak and vulnerable. Powerful and strong.

She should've resisted. But she couldn't. So she gave into it, telling herself it was just for a moment, just for a second. That this moment of indulgence would be over soon…it couldn't last long. They were in the forest for goodness's sake, not exactly isolated, not exactly alone. Surely her good sense would appear.

But it didn't. Her hands burrowed under his coat and curled into the rough fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer. She felt the bark bite into her back, but it didn't matter. His mouth was doing the most amazing things to her neck. He sucked, he nibbled, he licked-every movement sent a delicious tingle of pleasure down to her center. His hands ran up and down her back, as if trying to press his touch into her skin.

He was breathing harshly against her neck, and she rejoiced in his reaction. He was affected too; he was out of control too. How nice it felt to be out of control together.

There was a type of desperation to his movements, a slight roughness that she should've found off-putting. Instead it only made her moan. Because he seemed to understand exactly what she needed.

His hands fumbled with the armored plate at her waist, finally unlatching the metal hook that held it together and throwing it to the ground beside their feet. Fingers wormed under the hem of her chain mail and undershirt, finally meeting the warm skin of her stomach. He sprayed both of his hands against the naked sides of her stomach, holding her, rubbing his palms against her. She could barely breathe as the heat from his hands spread through her body like wildfire.

Boldly, he slid his hands upward, his thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts. Her nipples tightened in response. He was so close, so close… Then he pushed her chain mail and undershirt up to reveal her breasts to his greedy eyes. She gasped a little as cool air hit her skin and opened her desire-shut eyes.

She saw his eyes widen as he gaped at her naked chest. "Your breasts are unreal," he said raggedly. She felt his hands tremble as he finally, finally cupped her fully. This was so much better than their early morning encounter. Flesh to flesh, hot skin to hot skin. She withered against his touch, arching into his waiting hands.

His hands were so large, they completely covered her breasts. When his calloused thumbs brushed against her nipples, she moaned. It was delicious, so incredibly delicious. But before she could bask in the sensation, his lips moved from her neck to her chest.

His hot breath wafted against her puckered nipples, she gasped as his tongue flicked out and grazed her nipples. "Oh God," she whispered and he did it again. Harder and with more confidence.

Then he took her nipple into his mouth. And sucked. She cried out in surprise. It was so overwhelming, so intense. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle brush of his teeth sent a shot of heat straight to her center. She clenched and unclenched her legs trying to ease the ache, but it wouldn't abate.

His hands skimmed down her naked waist and over her lower back to her bottom. He cupped her and pulled her tight against him.

"God, you're so lush, your body is perfect," he groaned against her breast, quickly switching to torment the other nipple. She didn't know if it was his actions or words that aroused her more. Had she ever felt like this with anyone else? Had anyone ever made her feel so damned alive?

He pressed against her, his hardness setting off a thousand little sparks of electricity. Naturally, she widened her thighs and his body cradled into her. They both moaned as his cock settled right against her center. He was so hard, so rigid against her. She arched into him and was rewarded with a shot of heat. So she shimmed again and it got even better. He thrust against her, the hard ridge of his body hitting just the right spot. His hands were on her hips, bringing her closer and harder against him. He buried his head in her neck, his erratic breath dampening her skin.

They moved in tandem together, every action making her yearn for…something. Her muscles were clenched, she couldn't breathe as pleasurable pressure seemed to contract her womb. Her nipples rubbed against the rough wool of his shirt, heightening the sensations throughout her body.

"Oh," she moaned out, getting closer and closer to the edge. His body began rougher, harder, tightening the movements of her hips. She was mindless, so aroused, so desperate to end this…ache…this yearning…. It was so close, just a few more thrusts of his hard body…

"Yes, that's it, love. Come for me," he rasped near her ear.

She stilled, curtailing her movements and the building pleasure. It was the "love" that caught her, the one word that cut through the erotic haze in this small corner of the forest.

This wasn't about love. This was about power, surrender, a win-or-lose-all-out-competition. And damned if he didn't get past her defenses once again. Lulling her into some intimate liaison where he proved yet another point, yet another weakness of hers.

She shoved him, hard, catching him off guard to the point that he fell back on his butt.

"Get your filthy hands off of me," she said sternly, ignoring the burning in her body and the pounding of her heart. She quickly turned her back and pulled down her shirt. Then spotting her discarded belt, snatched it up and buckled it. With her back to Merlin, she took a few steadying breathes to calm her aroused body.

Love, he'd called her. This wasn't love. She wasn't his love. There was only hate between them.

She turned back to face him, her hardened mask in place. She wouldn't let him see how much he'd affected her. Not now, not ever.

He had already jumped to his feet and was busy collecting the fallen firewood.

When he had finished, he raised his eyes to hers. "You shouldn't have come," he said breathlessly, swiping the back of his hand over his damp lips, as if trying to remove the taste of her skin.

"To the forest or on this trip?" she said.

"Both," he said, standing up to face her.

"You have no right to tell me where I can or cannot go," she said stoutly with as much intensity as he did.

Then she brushed past him, determined to get back to camp.

He was a few steps behind her when his wry voice rang out, "This seems to keep happening. We engage in something, you assault me, then runaway. That act's starting to get a little tired, sweetheart."

She growled frustrated and turned to face him. "Don't call me that! I am not your sweetheart and I am certainly not your love. I don't want to be around you anymore than you do. So keep out of my business, and we'll get along just fine."

"I can't do that and you know why," he said almost softly, his eyes boring into hers. There was a softness in his eyes…something that she couldn't quite figure out. Did he mean he couldn't keep away from her? That he too felt this strange connection, the crackling tension that seemed to draw them together? But before she could examine it, the look was gone, replaced with steely intent. Just like earlier, just like his previous threats.

He was trouble. And whatever it was that was going on between them was even more trouble than she'd imagined.

She needed to get the hell away from here. She needed to escape Camelot and Merlin's interference. She needed to get away from him, because he was dangerous to her plans. He saw too much, but then, he always did.

Merlin's words haunted her the rest of the trip to Fyrien…_so don't runaway now, sweetheart_….she wasn't running away. Not from _him_ and certainly not from the awkward feelings or sexual tension. She was leaving, plain and simple. This was a part of her plan, had been her plan from the start of this journey.

Then why did it feel like she was running away?

**FINIS**

**Phew, that chapter seemed to take forever to finally get out. I felt really stilted writing it. Maybe it's the recent news about _Merlin_ being cancelled after S5 or something else (I had an existential crisis where I was thinking "Then what's all this fanfiction been about?"), but this was a hard one to finish. Although I do like how Merlin's become quite the seductive maven. Good compliments, right? I think most women want to hear something like that during an intimate liaison. **

**FYI, don't worry, I have no plans to stop writing on any of my stories. I even have some VERY naughty stuff happening soon.**

**Please review, cheer me up, and tell me your feelings about the S5 news? This is a safe place, let it out. **


	13. Chapter 13

_Hate has brought me up _

_The stairs into your house_

_I'll not let hate be the one_

_To make me naked for you_

_My self-esteem _

_Is heating up the room_

_You're as intimidating as all hell_

_But I ain't scared of you_

_I know how you work_

_I am just like you_

"Our Hearts are Wrong" by Jessica Lea Mayfield

**This was a recommendation from MissFella, so this chapter is dedicated you! ****Great song and completely appropriate for this chapter. It's been a pretty terrible week around here. This story and everyone's reviews are the only things that have kept me sane. So thank you!**

Chapter 13

He was bone tired. Several days following Arthur into the barrenlands would do that. Not to mention the full day of work he'd just completed for the prat. Polish this, Merlin. Bring me that, Merlin. Save the day, Merlin.

He dragged himself into the physician's chambers, thinking of one thing: a bath. As he entered through the creaking door, he nearly ran over Gaius.

Startled, Gaius backed up a few steps. "Sorry, my boy, I didn't see you there. Although I'm glad I caught you. I'm needed in one of the outlying villages. There's a small epidemic of chicken pox. Nothing lethal, just quite a few families that need my assistance. I should be back tomorrow or the day after."

Nodding tiredly, he said, "Duty calls and all that."

"Speaking of, I figured you could do with a little relaxation after your recent quest. The maids brought the tub to your room, filled it to the brim with boiling water about five minutes ago."

He sighed relieved and touched by the small gesture. "Thanks, Gaius. Have a safe journey. I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye," said Gaius smiling, his medical bag in hand.

Merlin nearly ran to his room. The tub was indeed filled to the brim, the water steaming and inviting. He tore off his clothes and grabbed a towel from his wardrobe. Sinking into the bath, he moaned aloud at the pleasure of the hot water on his aching muscles.

Sighing, he laid his head back against the lid of the tub, letting the heat seep into his skin and wash away the dirt and shenanigans of the past few days. This was just what he needed after a long quest, just what he deserved.

Dunking his head under the water, he closed his eyes, savoring this moment of pure solitude and calm.

In the background, he heard the door to the physician's chambers squeak open. Coming up out of the water, he called out. "Forget your spectacles?"

There was no answer. "Gaius?" Nothing.

Figuring it was just the castle noise or his own imagination, he grabbed the soap and started to lather up his chest and arms.

He whipped his head up at the sound of the handle to his door jiggling. "Gaius? Is that you? I'm actually in the bath, and I'd appreciate a little bit of privacy…"he trailed off as the door opened.

It was Morgana. While her eyes widened with surprise, she gazed greedily upon him in the bath.

His resisted the urge to cover his groin and tried for annoyed nonchalance. "What are you doing in my chambers?" From her vantage point near the door, she couldn't see anything aside from his upper torso, but apparently what she did see was more than a little pleasing. She took in every detail, every drop of water; she stared so long, he feared he might blush. Or worse-his body was already responding to her fiery emerald eyes, like it always did. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She cocked an eyebrow suggestively and said, "Visiting. I heard Gaius was away and I thought I'd be sociable."

"At 10 o'clock?" he asked incredulous and a little angry. It was so like her to just waltz into his rooms and interrogate him while he was in an uncomfortable position.

She shrugged. "Well, there's no time like the present."

"You need to leave," he said stoutly. Right-because her presence was intoxicating. Already his body was reacting to her nearness, her gaze. If she came closer…if she looked closer…she'd definitely see his treacherous cock rapt with attention.

"Why? I've only just got here. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, although I am in the bath. Obviously. Privacy and all that," he said.

"Yes, well, that is a development I didn't quite expect," she said honestly, her eyes flickering over his naked chest. He felt singed by her gaze as it lingered just a second too long.

"Morgana…" he said warningly.

"I'll just sit over here while you finish," she said, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. He frowned as she sat down, regal as a queen. It was a place he'd imagined her a thousand times before, although she usually had on less clothing.

At his continued frown, she waved her hand towards his bath and responded, "Well, go on then, I'm sure that the water will be getting cold soon."

Grumbling to himself, he continued his earlier ministrations. He rubbed the soap roughly on his body, hoping to wash off the sudden infection that Morgana had given him.

"You foiled my plan again," she said with feigned casualness.

"What are you talking about?" he asked dumbly. He knew exactly what plan she was speaking of, the whole give-Arthur-the-bracelet-that-saps his-energy-and-kills-him one.

"The quest, you foiled it," she said, again a statement, not a question.

"Haven't you heard? I was out picking herbs for Gaius. Besides, Arthur went on that quest alone, as per the usual questing rules," he said, avoiding her gaze.

She chuckled. "You'd have to be smoking some of those herbs to believe that tale. Everyone knows that Arthur rarely goes anywhere without you. It's quite the talk of the court, you and Arthur and your _special _relationship."

"Well, courtiers have rather dirty minds when it comes to servants. Most think they can get away with just about anything. You know, like cornering people in the bath," he said with a pointed glance.

"The game's still on, right?" she said, laughing without mirth.

"Is it? I'd thought you'd forgotten, what with all the kidnappings to arrange and princes to kill. Although come to think, ogling me in my chambers seems right on point."

She smirked and clucked. "So modest. I thought after our last encounter that I at least deserved a peek."

He reached over the edge of the tub and grabbed the towel in his hand, although made no move to get up from the bath. "A peek? You're about to get the whole bloody show if you don't get out of here."

"Maybe that's what I want."

He frowned and said with soft intensity, "I'm not your plaything, Morgana,"

"Really? Because from my vantage point you're naked and vulnerable. If that doesn't make you my plaything, then I'm not sure what would."

Indignation burned in his belly. "Fine," he said with a chipped tone. And with as much modesty and decorum, he abruptly stood up; giving her his back and he very quickly wrapped the towel around his waist. If she saw anything, she saw his arse and it was only for a moment.

Still angry at her constant intrusion, her condescension, and the arousal she evoked, he marched over and grabbed her arm, hoisting her up from her position on his bed. "Now, my lady, I'm done being sociable for the evening. The physician's chambers are closed for the night. You know your way out." He guided her over to the door to his little backroom.

"I think not," she said mysteriously. And then she trapped him against the door, much as he'd done in the stables and in the forest.

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He could easily move her aside, but he couldn't seem to react. Couldn't seem to function. Not with her breasts pushed against his naked chest, her provocative scent swirling around him. His body leapt to attention, hardening and tenting his towel.

"You know, I like having you like this. At my mercy…" she said, placing a few soft kisses against his clenched jaw. Her hands slid to his arms, grasping his muscles as if testing their strength. He tensed and flexed under her hands and she seemed pleased.

Her mouth settled on the side of his neck and she nibbled on his skin. He bit his lips to keep down a groan; he didn't want her to know how much she affected him. "Mmm," she murmured as she trailed her mouth down his neck to his collarbones, and then to his chest. Her hands ran over his pecks and his torso, her palms searing his skin. Her thumbs brushed over his nipples, and he gasped a little. So much for keeping his reaction under-wraps. He'd never imagined his body was so…sensitive there. And she took full advantage, like a hound that'd caught a good scent, she moved her mouth lower. Then she placed her mouth right over his nipple and licked, repeating his previous caresses on her. Her hot mouth engulfed his tiny nipple and sucked.

He whimpered. He was losing his mind as pleasure like he'd never thought or experienced coursed through him.

Her red lips and hot mouth were so seductive, burning his already hot skin. She was a siren, a goddess, and she had him at her mercy. He was withering against the wall, trying to deny the attraction, the reaction that was festering in his body, but unable to prevent the erotic sounds that spilled from his lips.

He forgot to breathe when he felt her hand part the slit where he had tied the towel. Her knuckles brushed against his thigh, his hip, and then finally, she softly ran her fingertips over his cock.

It was torturous—the touch was so gentle, so delicate. She dragged on fingertip down the entire shaft from tip to root. Then her thumb brushed over the head, catching the tiny bead of moisture.

The anticipation was so intense that his fingertips bit into his palms. But just when he thought he wouldn't go another second without forcing her hand to hold him, her hand circled him.

"Good God, Morgana," he managed through clenched teeth as every muscle tightened even more. He felt like he was being drawn on a rack. She stroked up and down, her hand tightening as she found a rhythm.

He was gasping out every breath, his eyes slammed shut as every sense focused on her touch. The pressure was building; he could feel his body clenching with the need for release, with the need to come. He'd never been this hot, never been this aroused in his life. She was tearing him apart with her sensuality, her every erotic move.

He could feel the pull of the edge…he was close…then abruptly, she stopped completely. A loud and frustrated moan slipped out as her hand falling away. The cool air hit his chest as she unplastered herself from her position against him.

He was disoriented as he opened his eyes….to her devious smile.

He took a calming breath and then another. Then another. Then another one, trying to quell the burn for release in his tightened bollocks.

Finally, he said hoarsely, "You're a bloody tease."

"Are you surprised?" she taunted with a raised eyebrow.

God, was he angry. Pissed. And more sexually frustrated than he could ever imagine. She'd brought him to the edge, only to deny him release, only to torment him, to play with him….she really was the _la belle dame sans merci_.

"It's over, Morgana. I'm done playing your game," he spat out, righting the towel's knot that had loosened during their activities. And trying to banish his throbbing arousal.

"Then claim your kiss," she said slowly, her siren lips puckered.

He was tempted, oh so tempted, to finally give her the kiss she wanted. To end this madness, to end this game, to end the sexual obsession. Oh and what a kiss he'd give her-something that would keep her toes curling for the next two days…

But his pride stopped him; she'd already taken a good deal of that tonight. She didn't deserve his kiss, she didn't deserve any more of his affection. "No. Never," he said intently.

"Then you're going to forfeit? So basically I win," she said gleefully.

He scowled. "Think that if it comforts you. But you've gained nothing through this little display-you've earned nothing, you've proved nothing, and you'll get nothing. Go back to batting your eyes while you stab your friends in the back. Now get out of my room. Just because you're the King's ward doesn't mean you can come into my chambers." He motioned towards the door.

She jutted her chin up and brought her face close to his as she whispered, "I think as King's ward I can do exactly as a please. One word about our little encounters and you'll be meeting the executioner at dawn."

Bringing his angry face closer too, he taunted, "Fine, do that. But know that I'll take you down with me. I'll rant and rave for all the bloody kingdom to hear. Uther might not believe me, but others will, others are suspicious. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but my words will eventually take you down. So run along to the King…if you dare."

They stared each other down, both of their faces drawn with anger and mutual annoyance. And an intensity that was as frustrating as it was sexual.

But she said nothing. Turning on her heel, she calmly swept towards the door and opened it.

Determined to get the very last word, he said with a gentler voice. "You know, I liked you once, Morgana. Thought you were all that was good and special about Camelot. Now I think you're all that's wrong with Camelot, as prejudiced and blinded as Uther. We could've been friends, now we're merely enemies."

Her eyes flared as she growled, "You were never my friend, Merlin."

He crossed his arms over his chest and said with finality. "Then you'd better watch your back. Now get out. I'm done playing with you."

FINIS

**Whoa, looks like Merlin's called it quits. I mean, he does have a good reason, considering that she gave him quite a case of blueballs. This was actually an additional chapter that I decided to add after starting the next one. I just thought that there needed to be some type of cushion between the forest scene and next chapter. You've been teased enough, we're about to reach the boiling point . Giggidy. **

**And yes, I'm utterly heartbroken about the end of Merlin. It seems so senseless, particularly with so many great plot points yet to be developed. I'm trying to avoid spoilers for S5, mostly because I don't have the patience to watch the episodes in 3 minute increments on Youtube. I'm really hoping for some type of redemption with Morgana, and a possible and final love connection. I'll go down with this ship. **

**Let me know what you think! I love reviews. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Well, how special are you? Two chapters in less than 12 hours? I think that's a new record for me. Although I will confess that this isn't the whole of the "naughty" chapter I had planned. There's so much more to come, but I thought I'd get this out ASAP. I've dialed up the angst here.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 14

God, he missed Gwaine.

He was drunk. Well, not as drunk as he wanted to be. More tipsy and jovial than slathering and incoherent. And not as drunk as he would've been had the hair-flipping exile been plying him with drink. He took another long sip from the pewter tankard in his hand, letting the warm brew fill his belly.

And kill his burning desire for Morgana.

He thought back on their earlier exchange.

Arthur and Morgana were just leaving after the end of the evening meal.

"Sire? Could I speak with you?" he asked. Arthur gave him a quizzical frown, but left Morgana a few feet away. She was listening intently, of course.

"I'd like the evening off. I believe I've _more_ than earned it," he said, a veiled reference to their recent quest.

Arthur surveyed him but finally said. "Sure, fine. Just be up for work in the morning, I don't want to find you passed out on the table in the tavern. Again."

He smiled and said a loud enough for Morgana to hear. "Absolutely, sire. I think a few drinks and some _female company_ will put me in fighting shape for tomorrow. Very fighting shape."

Catching his meaning, Arthur frowned and said tersely, "Merlin, you're not at the tavern yet, don't be so crass."

"Sorry, sire," he said and made for the door.

As he walked past her, Merlin gave her a smug smile. The game was over, he wasn't her plaything anymore, he could enjoy whoever's company he wised. Indeed, he planned to do just that. She'd merely narrowed her eyes in return.

"Would you like another?" said a female voice, tearing him from his revelry.

"Yes," he said, looking up and smiling. "Two more actually."

She smiled warmly at him. "Quite thirsty tonight, Merlin?"

"Very thirsty," he replied, finishing off the pint in front of him.

Leah was pretty. Pretty in a sweet sort of way, in an uncomplicated sort of way. Her beauty didn't etch words of poetry onto his soul like Morgana had once done, but she was attractive. Buxom and vivacious, she had light blonde hair and big blue eyes.

On the rare occasions that he went out with the knights or some of the other servants, she always smiled extra bright at him, always touched him whenever given the chance. Even brushed her breasts against him once or twice in the past. And he knew she was more than willing to go further, quite a bit further. It's not that she was a prostitute or anything, she was passionate, attractive, and available. If she liked someone, she didn't have a problem showing it.

And he definitely knew that she liked him. And from the way she was treating him, he definitely knew that she'd be more than willing to show that favor. Tonight.

She bustled back to his table with a pint in each hand. "Thank you., Leah," he said. "You're looking particularly beautiful this evening."

She giggled a little and placed a hand on her hip. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting with me."

"Then I haven't shown you enough proper appreciation, because I am definitely flirting with you," he said with a suggestive eyebrow wag.

"Then show me now," she said, plopping down on his lap. He was a little shocked at her boldness, but not off put. This was what he'd expected, right?

She slung her arm around his shoulders and pressed her body against his side. "So your work as the Prince's manservant. Is it dangerous?" she said teasingly.

He took a long sip from his tankard. "Very. If only you knew how dangerous. Brawls in taverns, fights with barbarians, assassin's plots. And that's without Arthur's tedious orders or the daily tasks."

She threw back her head and laughed, the sound a little too loud for his taste. Although he enjoyed making someone laugh, when usually all he did with Morgana was make her scowl.

Shoving her from his mind, he ran his hand down Leah's back. She was certainly well shaped-lush and full, sort of like someone else…

He cursed inwardly and took another long swig of his ale, letting the alcohol ripple through him. This was happening tonight. He was losing his blasted virginity to Leah.

"I've been eyeing you for a while now," he said with what he thought was a seductive timber.

"Really?" she said giggling. "You certainly haven't shown it. I thought there might be someone else, what with the way you were always resisting my very charming advances." Her hand settled on his upper thigh.

"Someone else? You must be mad. You're a lovely woman, "he said settling his hand a little lower on her back, close to her bottom. "And very well made. I'd have to be blind not to notice you."

"Then you must've recently gained your sight, because you've certainly sent me on a merry chase." Then putting her face close to his, she said softly. "But I'm more than eager for my prize now. I'm sure it was worth the wait."

Then she leaned in and pressed her lips against him. It was nice…although he hadn't kissed anyone since Freya. He thought it might feel better, more lively. What with all the lack of kissing with Morgana, he thought that he'd immediately feel a kick of lust at the press of a woman's lips.

Maybe he just needed more, a proper snog even. So he kissed her back, boldly thrusting his tongue into her mouth, running his hands through her hair. She was certainly eager, little moans kept coming from her throat.

And while it felt fine, nice, it was lacking. _Stupid_, he called himself as he tried to ignite the nonexistent flames, _kiss the pretty woman and enjoy this moment. _

She pulled back and smiled, her lips damp from his kiss. "I think we should go someplace more private."

He nodded dumbly as she took his hand and led him towards the door. This was happening.

Pulling him into the isolated alley outside the tavern, she backed against the wall, pulling him flush against her. It was an intimate position and suddenly it was all very real. He moved into kiss her, his hands running over her body as hers greedily explored hers.

She wasn't Morgana, but he would make this work, he would make this real. Because what he had with Morgana wasn't real. It was a game of calculation, a game meant to humiliate him into being her plaything. That wasn't real, the attraction with her wasn't real. He couldn't trust his feelings there.

Here was a flesh and blood woman who wanted him, who was eager to kiss him, eager to have his hands on her body.

It didn't matter that he didn't know her. It didn't matter that he didn't love her. It didn't matter that this was an alley or that he was slightly drunk and she'd probably done this a dozen times before.

All that mattered was getting rid of this bloody….infection of Morgana that was heating his blood. Purging her, purging his desire, losing himself in someone else.

Because he wanted that. He was an ordinary man, he wanted companionship, affection, he wanted to satisfy his needs with a willing woman. Not some devious witch hell-bent on using his body to revenge an act done for the greater good. He didn't need Morgana, he didn't want Morgana. He merely wanted someone. And here was Leah, responsive, eager, and easy to please.

Who didn't push to the very edge of lust only to draw back. Whose eyes didn't flash at him across the dinner table. Who didn't make him feel like he was jumping out of his damn skin every moment of every day.

Even if Leah smelled of ale and sweat, not vanilla and lilacs. Even if her giggle was high-pitched and shrill instead of low and seductive. She was attractive, right? Not blindingly beautiful like some figure out a myth, but lovely in her own way.

The lust was real, as he felt his body mustered a response to her bold caresses. And he would make this good for him, for them. He cupped her breasts and heard her moan, he pushed his slightly hard body against hers, and she moaned again.

He would make this real, he would make this happen. This was the solution, right? Meaningless sex with a woman he barely knew? That was the cure-all for everything, right? It would prove that what was between he and Morgana was nothing. That it was simple lust, not something more. Lust, that was transferable.

He kissed her harder. Any woman was the same as Morgana.

FINIS

**If your name is Leah, I'm sorry. I gave the buxom barmaid the name Leah for two reason: I hate that spelling of the name (it just doesn't make sense. I much prefer Leigha, although I know in some parts of the world the name is pronounced like Leia), and my college boyfriend cheated on me with my then friend Leah. We obviously broke up, and two weeks later I met my now husband. So Leah was a rather fortuitous figure, which is why I was fairly kind in her description. Although still a backstabbing bitch. She started dating my ex immediately after we broke up. Charmingly, my husband and I ran into her right after we started dating and he said "That's like willingly trading in a BMW for a Ford Focus". I knew he was a keeper right then. Plus, our first Christmas together he bought me the BBC _Pride and Prejudice_. Can you say soulmate? **

**But I digress. I hope you're digging the angst. This night of sexual energy isn't over. Oh it's sooo not. **

**Please review!**


	15. Chapter 15

**OK, now don't hate me, but this is another cliff-hanger. Thought I'd warn you so that you're not like "WTF, Emma?" then shaking your fist in outrage at your electronic device. However, I'm going to promise to have the next installment up before Christmas. **

Chapter 15

She dramatically flopped down on her back and stared up at the canopy sighing loudly. This was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. While she was used to a certain level of sleeplessness because of her dreams, the thoughts running through her head were anything but sleepy.

Merlin and his bloody taunt about female company. She snorted, female company indeed, as if he would so easily hook up with some indiscriminate woman from the tavern.

But it could be true, right? He wasn't totally unattractive, as evidenced by the giggling girls in the stables. And she'd overheard several of the court women compliment his dark blue eyes and jet black hair. He could probably flirt with someone….maybe he was now engaged in….

She flopped over on her side. So what? What was wrong with her? She couldn't be…jealous, could she? Merlin had ended the game, and she won. It was no business of hers what he did with the unsavory sorts of women one might find in the tavern. How he might touch them…pleasure them…kiss them. Images assaulted her…Merlin showing all that passion to a buxom beauty on his lap…his hands skimming over her like he'd done hers, his mouth on her neck, branding her like he'd once done to her… his hands sliding up the woman's thighs like she wanted him to do to hers…

She huffed, annoyed at her train of thought. Indeed, he was free to do as he pleased to any woman in the castle, in the whole of the kingdom. He could enjoy the company of two dozen women…

Except her. Not that she wanted him to do anything to her. This was all a game. A game where they tormented each other with erotic touches to see who cracked first. And she'd definitely had him in her sights with their last encounter in the physician's chambers.

The bath had been unexpected. She'd barely kept her mask in place upon entering his room, a place she'd never dared to go before, and seeing him bare-chested, his torso glistening from the steam. It was disconcerting to say the least. Still bothering her actually.

She chided herself for thinking about it, for getting caught up in the flush that swept his body as she brought him just close enough to release, for almost losing her nerve to go through with her teasing little charade. Right now she could hear her sister's voice in her head, telling her to stop being so stupid, to stop losing sleep over some silly serving boy who had the misfortune to foil all her plans.

He was stupid. She was stupid. This whole intolerable situation was stupid. And she didn't care who he was tupping right now. It was merely agitation brought on by his rejection, the stress of discovery and danger that was keeping her awake.

The frustrated feelings, she could get rid of that. Or at least, she'd heard she could. Her body just needed a little release, something to take the edge off of the tumultuous feelings that were plaguing her after so many encounters with her enemy.

Her hand slipped down to rest on her breast through the nightgown. Surely if Merlin could ignite something in her, she could do it herself. She brushed her thumb over her nipple, feeling a small sense of triumph as it tightened under her touch. A moan slipped from between her lips.

She didn't need Merlin. Not his large and callused hands, not his full and sensual mouth. Her hands cupped her full breasts and teased her hard nipples. Already her body was responding, dampening. She felt the agitation melt away as arousal started to pump through her frayed nerves. This wasn't about Merlin, this was about release. She didn't care who he was with…she didn't care who he touched with his strong hands…

But she couldn't help but imagine his hands, his body against her in the forest. His mouth on her breasts. She moaned as she flicked her nipple harder, wanting to remember that sensation, wanting to replicate some of it. She tugged at the laces of her nightgown, desperate to feel more.

Her hand pushed aside the silky fabric, and she rolled her turgid nipple between her finger and her thumb. She moaned again at the heat that coursed through her. It was almost as good as Merlin's hands….her hand ran down her side and she inched up the hem.

Surely she could recreate the clenching, the pressure that she'd felt in the forest. Tentatively, she cupped the triangle of her sex, surprised to find it already damp and hot. She arched a little into her own hand and started to explore…her finger brushing against a particularly sensitive spot….

A soft knock sounded and she gasped in surprise as she jolted up. No one was supposed to be here. It was incredibly late. Who in the bloody hell would come calling at this hour?

She grumbled to herself as she marched to the door and haphazardly retied the laces of her nightgown. Halfway to the door, there was another knock. Only it continued, a soft tap every second. If this was one of the knights or Arthur's idea of a prank, she'd have someone's head. As if she wasn't aggravated enough, but to then interrupt her self-love session…she'd kill them.

Too annoyed to bother with a robe, she unbarred the door and swung it open. "What?" she said a bit loudly, her eyes narrowed.

Her mouth fell open to form a soft "O". Not what, but who. Leaning against the door frame with a silly grin on his face was none other than the blasted idiot who had put her in this current state of sleepless agitation.

He continued smiling and said, "That's no way to greet a guest, is it?" Then walking past her, he entered her room and went to the sideboard.

She closed the door and hissed, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Visiting. Being sociable," he said as he pulled out some glasses.

She frowned and said tartly, "I thought you were out, enjoying some female company as you so properly put it." Then mockingly, she said, " What happened? Did the bar-wenches turn you down? Too scrawny for their tastes?"

"Quite the opposite actually," he said calmly. "I had a lovely woman by the name of Leah in the alley." He poured the thick red port into the glass, and she felt as if the blood that drained from her face was somehow the color of that wine.

What did he mean by "had a woman"? Did had mean sex? Did he have sex with Leah? Did he kiss her? Did he touch her where Morgana had just touched herself? She gulped. Did he put himself inside of her? Raw, green-eyed jealousy singed through her every muscle. She felt as if she'd just been punched in the stomach.

But she couldn't let him see…she didn't care anyways….wasn't she just thinking something similar about how little she cared…

"I'm sure that was romantic," she said sarcastically. She knew this would happen, didn't she? She continued, "But that doesn't explain why you're here? Have you merely come here to drink my port?"

He turned to face her, a mysterious smile on his face. She squirmed under his gaze and looked down. He saw too much.

He took a sip from his glass and said, "Leah and I were in the alley passionately kissing and touching…."

She wished she could put her hands over her ears right now. Drown out the sound of his voice, the content of his story.

"And….I stopped," he finished.

Surprised at the sudden curtailment of the story's direction, she looked up and asked, "You stopped? Why?" Then feeling exposed, she said, "I thought it was female company you were intent on _enjoying_. Seems like Leah and the alley would've been the perfect situation."

"You're female company, aren't you? I'm attempting to enjoy it," he said honestly, raising his glass to salute her.

The honesty was unsettling. He was being so…open. Not elusive or hiding. And why had he told her about Leah and the alley? What was his game? Whatever was between them was over. He was the one who saw an end to that.

She frowned and leaned against the post of her bed. "I thought you were done with our game. Forfeited it, actually."

He shrugged and finished his glass of port in a long swallow. Raising an eyebrow, she said, "Do you think that wise?"

"Is this wise?" he said, waving his hand to indicate the few feet between them. "Clearly the drink has made me dumb, so why not add more to my stupidity?"

That was the problem though; the drink hadn't made him stupid. And he certainly wasn't drunk. She'd seen enough of Camelot's knights during large feasts to know when a man was drunk. There was ale and port on his breath, but she could still smell the spicy scent that was decidedly Merlin. And he wasn't slurring his words or acting obnoxious. He was merely acting like an amplified version of himself. Bolder. Raw. Honest. Liquid courage-she'd one heard any number of libations called that. And it appeared that Merlin had imbibed some of that. For him to show up here, unannounced, drink her port, and then….flirt with her. That wasn't drunk, but it sure as hell wasn't his usual behavior.

He walked over to stand in front of her. "You know, you're right: you were never my friend."

She glared at him, the sudden and painful reminder of their past pressing on her chest. Of coughing and wheezing for breath while being held by a man she had once considered the most loyal friend. "That much is obvious," she said stiffly.

Unexpectedly, his hand reached up and cupped her cheek. She should've pulled her cheek away, should've pushed him aside, but his softly uttered words stopped her cold. "You were always more than that."

She was caught in his gaze, in the dangerous and heated connection that trapped her, that always trapped her in his blue depths. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone.

He continued, "Do you want some truth, Morgana? I desired you then. You drove me mad with lust, with longing. Your beauty was like the sun, if I gazed at you too long my eyes would burn. You were a single blooming rose in the middle of this overrun patch of weeds. I would've done anything for you then. And now the same beauty, the same loveliness stands in front of me, but it's all gone dark. I might want your body, Morgana, but what's underneath is too dark for even me to understand."

His lips ghosted over her cheek and he whispered, "Whatever's between us is too much for me to resist. And I think you need this just as much as I do."

**FINIS**

**While I'm still cowering under my desk as I feel your collective annoyance, at least you know what happens with Leah and Merlin. Right? The next chapter will be up soon, cross my heart and all that. Please review? Pretty please?**

**I really do love everyone's sweet and encouraging reviews. **

**It makes me write, makes me want to finish every chapter.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews. My deepest apologies for breaking my promise. I have no excuse except that my schedule quickly evolved into a persistent schedule: sleep, shop, nap, eat, drink, repeat. My birthday (Boxing Day to our British friends) was much the same. If you were my students and I'd been unable to meet a self-imposed deadline, I would've bribed you with candy. I will say that I wanted to make this chapter as awesome as I'd promised. This chapter is also dedicated to christallh24-who has wanted this "action" to happen since Chapter 8.**

**So a belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I'm heading to Dublin for my honeymoon on January 3****rd****. However, I hope to have another chapter before then.**

Chapter 16

Pressing against her, he ran his hands over her shoulders and down the curves of her body. She shivered as the heat of his hands seeped through her thin nightgown. He was right; whatever was between them was too much for her to resist. It felt too good. It had been too long. She wouldn't deny herself anymore. Whatever he had to give, whatever he was going to do, she wanted him to.

His mouth settled on the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. She moaned as the sensations rushed through her. The sparks that she had started roared to full flames under his touch. Her neck arched and her heart beat faster as his fingers plucked at the poorly tied laces of her nightgown. He peeled the fabric away from her already aroused breasts, his fingers brushing against her nipples.

He lowered his mouth and cupped her breasts in his large hands, then he sucked the tight bead of her nipple into his hot mouth. He nibbled and swirled, his tongue circling around her. She gasped and moaned raggedly, every touch a sending a shot of heat to her center. His hands moved down, hitching the front of her hem up her parted legs.

Thumbs skidded along the tops of her tights, testing out the softness of her skin and driving her crazy with anticipation. Finally, his fingers gently swept over the patch of springy hair, already slick with arousal.

"Oh," she whispered, half surprise, half moan. A flare of heat went straight to the spot his fingers had just touched. It was so much better than her fruitless efforts from earlier.

He moaned and placed his forehead between her breasts. "You're so wet already. Were you…God, were you touching yourself before I came here?" he asked, his voice strained with arousal. It sounded like he was fighting for control.

"No," she denied quickly, blushing crimson and moaning as he cupped her fully between her thighs.

He chuckled lowly. "Your secret's safe with me. There's no shame in such actions. Besides, you've always been a fever that I can't cure."

She felt like she too had a fever. His hands were doing the most delicious things to her, his thumb massaging a place that was sensitive and tingling. She strained against his touch, anxious for more of it. His finger slid against her hot flesh and she felt the beginnings of the sensation from the forest.

"Mmm, your skin is delicious," he rasped from between her breasts. "I bet you taste delicious everywhere."

Taste caught her attention. Did this mean he was finally going to kiss her? Finally going to give into the attraction between them? But his mouth moved downwards, placing openmouthed kisses against her clothed nave and the sides of her hips. As he knelt down, his mouth came even with her burning center. Surely he couldn't….her sister had never mentioned…what could he possibly want….

Then his hot mouth settled right against her throbbing petals and she nearly came out of her skin. A soft sound emitted from her mouth, part squeak, part moan. He chuckled and softly licked her again. It was the most erotic moment of her life. His lips teased her tiny pearl of nerves, sucking and swirling his tongue until she was mindless with pleasure. It was shocking and utterly decadent. And she wanted more.

Her hips started to arch into his mouth as small whimpers escaped through her parted lips. Then he boldly thrust his tongue inside her and she sobbed out a moan. She was so close, her body was pushed to the very brink of sanity and pleasure. She couldn't take more of this. Her legs were shaking and her belly quivered, but he kept on, driving her to the very edge. He wouldn't tease her, not tonight. They both needed too much.

Then finally, the tight reassure that built in her womb snapped and bliss flooded every nerve in her body. She twisted with the waves of pleasure, caught in a sea of passion that was pulling her under. She keeled his name over and over again. The pleasure was so raw it was almost painful as her body contracted. It seemed to go on forever and yet it wasn't long enough. Her lungs gasped for air as she came down from the sexual high that he had just given her.

Her eyes opened and she looked down to gaze at Merlin. He had let her nightgown fall into place and he rested his head against her belly, his breathing as labored at hers, his hands rubbing up and down her calves.

There was an intimacy in the moment. She'd never experienced that level of arousal or release. And it was Merlin who had given it to her, who had helped her reach such heights.

She wanted to say that it was all a game, some moment he had carefully crafted to make her weak once again. But how could it be? He had shown his own weaknesses, his own vulnerabilities, his honesty had done that.

And she felt disconcerted by him. There was something about him that was special. There was more to him than a mere loyal servant to Arthur. He inspired something in her. Loyalty, duty, things she owed Morgause through blood and experience-and yet Merlin made her want to give those things to him. It was foolish and yet in this moment, she might've given him anything. Anything to keep him looking at her like he was doing now. Anything to keep him here. To keep his arms open and his heart on his sleeve.

Because he was special. Because whatever passed between them in these hot and heated moments was complicatedly wonderful. To feel something for him when he had done nothing to earn it…nothing to prove that he had thought his poisoning a true mistake…that scared the hell out of her. She'd gladly face Uther's wrath and the executioner's axe than admit that Merlin held some type of emotional power over her.

But he did. Because sometimes all she wanted was for him to wrap his arms around her and say that everything was going to be ok, that she could change, that they could change Camelot together.

It was a stupid thought, a hopeless one at that. They were on two opposites sides, playing two different roles in Camelot. She as rebellious spy and he as unsung hero. But as she reached down to stroke his hair and his aroused eyes glanced up at her and his husky voice said, "I was right. You do taste delicious _everywhere_," she truly wished it were different.

Maybe it was the flush of release or his hoarse words. Or maybe it was the heady rush of seduction. Or maybe it was the all-consuming nature of the sexual attraction that she didn't want but was always present. But she knew this night couldn't end unless she gave him, saw him reach the same heights as she had just done.

* * *

He stood from his position on the floor, trying desperately to keep his body under control. To resist the primal desire to shove her to the bed and make her cry out his name again as he thrust high into her body. The pull for completion, for release was potent. He'd nearly come in his breeches like the…untried lad that he was. Her taste, her cries, her open passion and desire had drawn him to the edge of his sexual tether.

It would've been easy to take his pleasure, to make her his with flesh and passion. Her body had been limp with release, primed for a second round of pleasure. But he'd stopped. Not just because the last vestiges of civility demanded that he stop, but because one push into her soft and damp body, and he'd be lost for good.

One moment of shared bliss would derail everything. She'd claim his heart. His soul. He'd lose it all. Not just the game, not just his pride or his upper hand, but everything. Arthur. His destiny. His future. She had that much power. The tangled web of passion would draw him so far off the course of his destiny that he'd never get out. He would never leave her, would never go against her. He'd never be able to stop her. Because he'd be lost in her-in her body, in her passion, in the connection that brought them together, in their shared dream for the future for magic. The darkness that simmered deep in his depths would find its mate in Morgana. And he couldn't allow that. He couldn't give in, no matter how much he wanted. No matter how easy it would be.

He stared at her. The beautiful flush that had tinted her skin pink, her nipples red from his kisses….she looked like exactly like the sirens that beckoned men to their dooms. And in this case, it was true.

Then a sudden impish smile pulled at her lips as she grabbed his shoulders and switched their position, pushing him against the corner pillar of her bed. Like the most erotic incarnation of his deepest fantasy, she sunk to her knees in front of him and slowly began to work on the laces of his breeches.

He moaned and his head fell back as her eager fingers slid against his hard erection through the material. This couldn't be happening…she couldn't know…she wouldn't want…Then it occurred to him that this might be another tease, another test of his strength and mettle in their little game.

"Please, Morgana," he managed to choke out as she loosened the last of his ties. "If you're just going to tease me, I beg of you to stop. I…can't take it. Not tonight…I need this…you…too much."

He felt her hot breath on his revealed cock and flinched with pleasure. "Shut up, Merlin," she said tartly, then tentatively ran her mouth down the length. He literally shook with the sensation of her damp lips along the sensitive skin of his cock. The pleasure was intense and her touch was too gentle; he had to fist his hands to keep them from forcing her mouth down his shaft. Her tongue brushed against the head of his erection and she softly placed him in her mouth. He nearly exploded right then, the soft suction of her mouth driving him wild.

He could tell she didn't know what she was doing. But her every movement was so bold and enthusiastic, it didn't matter. Her mouth was on him, and that's all that mattered. She moved her head down the entire shaft, and he gasped as wet heat fully engulfed him. He was withering against the pillar, his knees weak as heat gathered at the base of his spine.

Already after one pull from her mouth he burned for release. He knew this wouldn't last long-he was so close, so desperate to come. And she sensed it, she sucked just a little harder, moved her mouth just a little faster, and swirled her tongue against him over and over. Through the haze of desire, he heard her moan in an erotic counterpoint to the throaty groans that he made. It only made him swell bigger: she was enjoying this too.

Every breath felt ripped from his lungs, every moan torn from his soul. He couldn't hold back any longer, the heat rising inside of him threatening to spill over.

And like a flash of lightening, it did. He writhed against her silken mouth, pleasure flooding every nerve, every inch of his skin on fire. He moaned out her name through clenched teeth as his seed spilled into her mouth. The climax was wrenching and darkly powerful.

Befuddled by the intensity of the climax and embarrassed by the lack of decorum in unexpectedly releasing his seed into her aristocratic mouth, he fumbled in his pocket for something to remedy the situation. "Here," he said breathlessly as he handed her a handkerchief, his fingers still shaking with the aftereffects.

Unfazed, she took it and quickly spit out the seed, wiping her sinful mouth with prim and ladylike composure. Quickly, he retied his breeches then stared at her in wonder: she fascinated him. Her blend of seduction and innocence, confidence and vulnerability-he was utterly enchanted by her. Extending his hand, she placed her soft hand in his and rose to face him.

He fumbled for words…for the appropriate phrase to say after such an experience and settled on an awkward "Thank you."

She smiled almost self-consciously, their hands still laced. "You're welcome."

He couldn't stop looking at her, couldn't break her gaze or unclasp their hands. Something powerful had passed between them this night. Something even he hadn't expected. It was frightening, more frightening than he'd ever expected. And he was dying to brush his lips against hers. It wasn't a sexual response but an intimate one. Her lips were flushed and red from the many intimacies they'd just shared and yet he somehow felt like he'd been denied…something. He sensed that this had just become more complicated. The bond between them was getting strong, stronger than he'd ever imagined possible. He could feel the tendrils of tenderness, the strains of connection wrapping him up in Morgana.

And he needed to break it before it broke him. Already he could feel himself softening towards her. She was still dangerous to Camelot, dangerous to Arthur. But so dangerous to him. If he let himself, he would reveal everything. All the secrets, all the magic, all the lies. He couldn't afford this. Not now. So he tried to replace his open honesty with caution

"I should probably leave," he said tentatively, gently pulling his fingers from hers.

"That's probably wise," she said mysteriously, her eyes flicking away.

"I mean, Gaius might wonder where I've got to," he said.

"Sure, right," she said, nodding woodenly.

He took a lingering look over her face. God, she was perfection. So lovely, so damned beautiful that it still hurt to look on her, knowing all the darkness that simmered underneath. The old regret flared and the questions came again-what would've happened if he'd never poisoned her? Never sacrificed her to save Camelot? Would this be real? Would he be able to share with her the feelings he was trying to repress right now? But the heavy burden of destiny slid back on his shoulders. That future was gone now.

He turned and walked to the door, surprised to find her following him. Pulling the handle, he quietly opened it and shuffled into the hallway.

She rested her head against the frame, like that night so long ago, when things had been different. When they'd both been different.

"Goodnight, Merlin," she said, a sad smile on her face.

He smiled back and walked on.

Their moment was gone. They both knew it.

**FINIS**

**What say you? A little angst, quite a bit of hotness-hope it met with your sexpectations. Please review!**


	17. Chapter 17

_For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright_

_Who art black as hell, as dark as night._

_-Shakespeare's "Sonnet 147"_

Chapter 17

He tore up the stairs that led to the dungeons, his heavy boots echoing on the stone blocks. Gwen's words and his own curses filled his head, all speaking directed at one person: Morgana.

Of course it had been Morgana who had planted the poultice under Arthur's pillow. Who else had that kind of access and malicious intent? She'd proved time and again to have just one prerogative: to bring Camelot to its knees. No one else had the motive or the means to pull off such a scheme. And under Uther's nose and Arthur's watch? She was the only one. Damn her to hell.

If he hadn't have been so distracted by her sexual allure, he would've realized it soon. Unwanted memories flooded his mind and he quickly tried to squelch them. Her body arching into his mouth. Her taste on his tongue. The erotic moans from her red lips.

He shook his head and tightened his lips, angry at his lack of discipline. That didn't matter anymore. Not a whit, because she'd just turned their bloody world upside down again. Of all the things to do…to frame Gwen for sorcery and to use Arthur's feelings to make him vacate the throne…it was abundantly clear that their last encounter had changed nothing.

He walked down the hall, intent on consulting Gaius and cleaning up this bloody mess. But he heard the tell tale sounds of heels clicking on stone and it sounded like the steps were coming from around the corner. After all this time, all the spying, all the years spent in the castle, he knew her step. Anger flared again through his body. That she could walk free when Arthur and Gwen were under guard…it was too much.

He waited for her at the end of the hall, hiding himself behind one of the stone pillars. And as luck would have it, she decided to strut down this hallway, her walk confident and swinging.

As she passed by him, he darted out from behind the column and grabbed her arm. Surprised, she turned to frown at him, annoyance chiseled into her features.

"Yes?" she hissed, her raven eyebrow arching.

"I know what you've done," he said through clenched teeth.

"And what have I supposedly done now?" she said with feigned innocence, a small smirk playing on the corner of her mouth.

As angry as he was, he realized the foolhardiness of this moment. They were in wide view of anyone who passed by, and at this hour, there were bound to be guards about. He looked both ways and spotted a nearby broom closet. He dragged her into it, shutting the door with a sound snap. The space was darkened and small, although he could still see her white face petulantly turned up to him.

"Well, this is cozy," she said, her eyes burning as she wrenched her arm from his grasp. "I didn't realize that a broom closet was the appropriate place for our conversation. But go on, I can see the vein throbbing in your head."

Even as the blood still rushed angrily through his body, he gaped at her. How could she be this flippant, this nonchalant about the possibility of Gwen's demise? When had she changed? When had she become so calculated, so cold?

Gwen and Arthur. They were her oldest friends. He didn't kid himself; obviously he was close to both Gwen and Arthur too. But Morgana, she'd known them both for most of her life, had grown up with them, shared secrets with Gwen and swordplay with Arthur. He thought about Gwen's tears from earlier…her heartbroken look, the slap that Uther had given her…and all for what? Morgana's amusement?

"How are you capable of this much evil?" he said incredulously.

Arthur and Gwen. Their love was beautiful. It made them both light up. And the man that Arthur had become because of Gwen and would become with Gwen at his side…how could Morgana not see how special that was. How truly they loved each other? Theirs wasn't a love that happened everyday. It was rare and pure and wonderful. He felt somewhat fulfilled even being around them, living vicariously through them. Even knowing that something like that wouldn't happen for him, he wasn't jealous. He wanted Arthur and Gwen to succeed, wanted their love to blossom. Two people he loved who loved each other. Why couldn't Morgana leave them alone?

She frowned and crossed her arms determinedly. "People can surprise you."

He flinched at her veiled reference to the poisoning. But this wasn't about him, this was about her. "What happened to you, Morgana? Have you gone so cold, so heartless that you would take away something so special from people you once loved?

Her eyes hardened as she spat, "What would you know about having something taken away? You're too wrapped up in Arthur, in the precious Camelot you'll do anything to protect that you don't even know what love is."

"Are you so starved for love? So starved for affection and attention from anyone that you would destroy something so beautiful? Because it's obvious that _you_ know nothing of love, Morgana. If you did, you wouldn't be doing this."

She tilted her head and whispered intensely, "How about this? Do you think that Arthur would still love you if he learned about how you poisoned me?"

His eyes narrowed as he said, "At least I'm not trying to kill his true love,"

She snorted and tossed her head, "True love? As if you or anyone else in this whole place knows the meaning of that. True love indeed. Infatuation, lust, that's all I see."

There was something in her voice…something that was off. "Is that jealousy I hear in your voice? Are you jealous that poor serving girl Gwen has love and you don't?" he asked.

"I have my sister's love and Uther's. Those are the only forms of love I need," she said. .

"Really?" He moved closer, lowering his face until he could stare right into her eyes.  
"Because all I see is a bitter little girl who can't stand her former best friend having something she doesn't," he hissed.

Her lips thinned in anger as she hissed right back, "And all I see is a love-starved servant who's living his life through someone else's. You can't have Freya, so what? You're willing to settle for watching Arthur and Gwen?"

The mention of Freya was like a punch to his gut. It was a low blow, even for her. She knew his weaknesses, his vulnerabilities. "You know, for one moment I thought you might be capable of change, that I saw something in you that was still worth saving. But it was just my _lust _clouding my brain. Because you're dead inside, incapable of feeling anything but anger and bitterness. You're decaying right before my very eyes and I think much longer in your presence and I'll catch whatever plague has brought you so low," he said.

If his words penetrated her hard armor, she showed no sign. "Well, if I've become poisonous, it's only through your actions, through your sins."

"Yes, it's all my fault, isn't it? I'm the one who made you do this, right?" he said sarcastically. "You're digging your own grave, Morgana. You and Morgause. Your sin isn't mine anymore. But that's not what this is about, is it? I know you better than you think, just as you read my weakness with Freya, I can read yours."

"Oh really? Do tell. Because from where I'm standing, I'm untouchable," she taunted.

He paused, not sure how far he was willing to go, not sure how much he should say. But her lies demanded honesty, her actions mandated candor. He'd oblige her some truth. "Your greatest fear is that no man will ever love you with all the hatred inside of you. That all your beauty and your wit will mean nothing because it's all clouded in darkness and deceit. That your soul is too black, your actions too far, your faults too many."

She audibly drew a deep breath and her eyes slowly blinked. He'd hit the mark alright. But there was more to be said.

His eyes never left hers as he said, "And you know what? You're right, there's nothing left for anyone to love. So use your body and your wily, manipulative ways on Uther, on me, and the whole castle. And tell yourself this is about power. Take Camelot and the throne and pretend those accomplishments are what you truly desire. But we both know you're jealous of Arthur and Gwen's happiness, that you'd give anything to have a love as true as theirs. And in the end, you'll never have that. You'll merely be alone and unloved, a tyrant queen on a throne of lies."

He saw the emotions play over her face: her shock, her anger, and finally, her hurt. Her eyes watered and she quickly looked away. Not before a small tear leaked out from the corner of her eye.

He desperately wanted to remain unaffected. But that single, reluctant tear ate at his soul like acid, dissolving his previous conviction. She'd deserved the hard and hurtful truth, after everything she'd done today. And damned if it didn't hurt him to speak it too.

A long moment passed and she turned back to him. Suddenly, her hand jutted up and grabbed his handkerchief, pulling his neck and head abruptly down. A few inches separated them, but if looks could kill, he'd be dead already.

"Go to hell, Merlin," she vehemently whispered through clenched teeth.

"Every moment with you is hell," he responded with a gentle voice. The air shifted as the double meaning of his words hung between them.

Suddenly, the tension wasn't completely anger or pain. It was longing, it was lust, it was passion. For a romance that could've been but was denied far too early. For moments that were gone and emotions that were too complicated for this time and place. They both huffed in the aftermath of an angry fight, their air mingling together in the short space between them. He wasn't sure what to do anymore, what to say. He knew he'd shared too much, knew she saw too much. And that maybe, she understood that it had needed to be said.

And just when he thought she would either slap him or rush from the room, she did something totally unexpected.

She tugged his neckerchief lower and pressed her lips against his.

**FINIS**

**You must really tire of my cliffhangers. This is literally all I could put together before I leave for Dublin tomorrow, so try not to hate me too much. Here's to hoping we get bumped up to first class (although I'd settle for free champagne onboard. I'm easy to please)! Please review!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks for all the well wishes and the reviews. Our honeymoon (when was that?) was absolutely lovely and filled with copious amounts of Guinness. Yum. My apologies for the severe delay on this chapter. Life happened in multiple ways-I've been awarded a fellowship for next year (and they say academia doesn't pay) and I started a new part-time job. However, sadly, a small tragedy befell us not long after our happy return to the States. Our precious cat, Lola, unexpectedly passed away. As you can imagine, we were utterly heartbroken by her sudden passing. She was a very spry and sassy 8 years old, so her death was virtually unimaginable. In many ways, she was something of a Muse to me- she nibbled on all the corners of my books and slept right next to me while I crafted chapter after chapter of fanfiction (not to mention thousands of words for my dissertation). It was difficult to finish this without her by my side. She will be greatly missed and so, I dedicate this very climactic chapter to her. **

Chapter 18

It was the wrong moment in the wrong place with the wrong man. And yet as her lips finally, finally, finally touched his, nothing had ever felt so right.

She should've just let go of his neckerchief. Loosened her fingers and got the hell out of there. But she'd never done what she was supposed to do, always been too bold for her own good.

And she'd wanted this for far too long-since the game had started, since a lifetime ago when she'd been Uther's clueless ward and he'd been Arthur's clumsy servant. Since before Mordred and Alvarr, before Morgause, before the poisoning, before magic had altered her entire life. Before everything got so damned complicated and tangled, she'd dreamed of kissing him.

She moaned softly as their lips sealed together. His were full and soft, as soft as she'd always imagined they would be. And the swift kick of lust, of tenderness, of perfection was as welcome as it was unexpected. She could feel his shock and arousal, as his lips trembled against hers. She was trembling too.

The moment was raw. There was no pretending anymore; this was real. She was frightened as much as she was aroused by that thought.

She eagerly nudged her lips against his and it seemed to jolt him into action. He slanted his mouth against hers, fitting them more perfectly together. She shuddered in response as her fingers loosened from his neckerchief. His hands quickly moved up and threaded through her hair, tilting her head up and pressing his lips harder against hers.

Her knees went a little weak and her body quivered. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist and pulled her up against his body, her arms instinctively circling his neck, holding him as she rose up on her tiptoes. It should've felt like surrender. Instead it felt like victory. She leaned into his body, anxious to feel his strength, his heat against her.

But this was her kiss. And she was greedy to taste him.

She tentatively brushed her tongue against his sealed lips. And he moaned, the sound humming against hers. And he parted his lips and let her in. She took the invitation.

Her tongue flicked past his lips and grazed his teeth. He tasted like seduction-sweet, mellow, and spicy. It was like the most exotic fruit, once tasted you'd crave it for the rest of your life. He let her taste him, let her take the lead, let her take the moment. Her fingers ran through his hair

He walked her back, his thighs brushing against hers as her back met the wall of the broom closet. She pulled him closer, flattening his body against hers. She couldn't stop the heartfelt moan that went through her as his hard body notched against hers. He became bolder, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as she rubbed her throbbing breasts against him.

She felt consumed. By the kiss, by Merlin, by the passion that always ignited like a wildfire between them.

She put everything into the kiss-all the passion, all the disappointment, all the anguish and pain that he'd provoked…..all the love that could've been.

Her left leg lifted off the floor, desperate to pull him even closer. His hand skimmed down her velvet-covered thigh, cupping her bottom in his large hand. He leaned into her, groaning against her lips. Her hands framed his face as she moved her head to the side, wanting to get as close as possible.

It was an erotic dance of lips, hands, tongues, bodies-one they'd denied for far too long. She ravished him. He ravished her. They struggled for dominance, his body notching pressing her further against the wall as she withered under his touch. She pressed back, circling her hips into his and was rewarded with a loud moan.

"Did you hear that?" asked a gruff voice close to the door.

They broke apart, both their eyes wildly turning towards the sound as the footsteps punctuated their heavy breathing.

"Hear what?" asked another voice. Damn, it was guards. And from the volume of their voices, they were nearly on the other side of the door.

"I don't know. It sounded like a…groan or something," said the first voice.

A pregnant silence followed as they waited with baited breath for the door to swing open to reveal their position. "I don't hear anything. Let's get a move on it. Our watch's almost over."

She released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. And her foot finally hit the floor as Merlin gently removed his hand from her bottom. She picked invisible lint off her dress, determined to avoid his gaze for just a few moments longer. And to get her raging heartbeat and scattered mind under control.

That had just happened. One moment she was cursing him to the hell, the next she was kissing and being kissed with the fire of a thousand suns. A stolen moment of passion in a broom closet with the man she despised. Her lips still tingled from his kiss and her pulse still pounded. It had been real. Very real.

She finally looked up, trying to read his expression, his reaction. He looked mussed, his hair at odd angles, his cheeks stained with a flush. As he caught her looking at him, he frowned and brought the back of his hand up to wipe off his damp lips.

That one innocuous action hurt more than any of his other words. Like somehow her taste, her kiss was a poison.

Then his voice sounded, full of steel, anger, and condemnation. "I win, you lose, and this changes nothing."

Then he started towards the door, leaving her staring at his retreating form. "Where are you going?" she asked annoyed and accusing.

"To find someone who can fix your bloody mess," he said over his shoulder, barely even inclining his head towards the sound of her voice. Then he swiftly opened the door and left.

There had been no swagger to his walk, no confident strutting. And he didn't look back, not once. Déjà vu swept her in that moment, recalling memories of the last time he'd walked away from her in the small alcove.

He'd left her in the dark then too.

FINIS

**Whoa, angst. And no, this isn't over, although the game certainly is. I hope this met your expectations, because I'm not sure if it met mine, which I think means I've worked on it too long. I have most of the next chapter written and hope to have that up soon. **

**Please Review!**

**So this is totally out of our Mergana canon, but as my profile picture and dissertation suggests, I'm a huge fan of Jane Austen. A good friend recently suggested "The Lizzie Bennet Diaries"-a web-series on YouTube that has a modern take on ****_Pride and Prejudice_****. And it was OUTSTANDING, hilarious and very true to Austen's spirit. And Darcy? Deliciously maddening and snobbishly sexy, just as he ought to be. Watch it, you won't be disappointed. **


	19. Chapter 19

_For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob. I sob._

_Virginia Woolf_**, **The Waves

Chapter 19

She felt numb. The vision had come true, she was the tyrant in her dream, she was the villain. Her face had contorted with anger and cruelty. Every arrow buried in the flesh of an unsuspecting victim was a punctuation of that point. She felt every one of their wounds as if they were her own, only the pain was deeper, puncturing her heart, her blackened soul.

Her legs carried her along the corridor as Morgause's voice was a mere buzzing in the background as she thought of the horror of that moment, of the things she'd ordered…the things she'd done….

"Morgana? Morgana? Did you hear me? The council meeting is at 2 o'clock. We need to have a plan in place in case Arthur gets brave enough to attack the castle," Morgause said.

"Right," she managed, her gaze flickering to every window she passed, wanting to look at the courtyard and yet horrified by what she might see there.

Morgause stopped her with a hand on her wrist and turned her to face her. "You did well today. I know that was difficult, but think about the number of our people that Uther."

She nodded, trying to keep the mask her sister desired in place. Standing in that position over everyone, she remembered how often Uther had forced her to watch executions. Eventually she'd defied him, stopped attending such events all together, couldn't stand by idly as people, innocent people, were made victims simply because of magic. But was she any different? She shuddered at that realization.

"We need to show strength. We need to show them that they can't disrespect us. The knights made their choice today. You had no other option," said Morgause.

"I know," she said woodenly. But that was a lie, yet another one she'd told on this path to power and queenship. She'd had a choice. It was her arm that lowered, her order that rang out across a courtyard long ago saturated with the blood of innocents. She shivered even under several layers of velvet and cotton-Merlin's words come back to haunt her. _It doesn't have to be like this. We could find another way._

_There is no other way._ How arrogant and cocksure she'd been. How naïve, still naïve after a year with Morgause, she'd been. Now her path was set, the deeds done, the blood spilt. And God, how she wished there was another way now, that she could find that other way.

She'd sensed him there the day the crown had fallen heavy on her head. Knew his eyes, haunting and accusing, were fixed on her from somewhere in the room. She'd jutted her chin up in challenge and let a triumphant smile tug at her red lips.

But across the expanse, from whatever hidden corner he'd crawled into, she heard his voice loud and clear, as if he'd stood up and shouted it…_a tyrant queen on a throne of lies_…

She shook herself out of the maudlin thoughts and turned to face her sister. She didn't need to feign the downtrodden look on her face. "It's just been a long day. I think I'll take a moment's rest before the council meeting this afternoon."

Her sister frowned. "I'm not sure that's a good idea…we can't afford to show weakness…"

"I didn't sleep well last night. And better that I unburden myself now rather than fall asleep or yawn at the meeting. What kind of message does that send?" she said in an authoritative voice. She was the queen. She needed some privacy, a moment to herself in the endless succession of meetings and bloodshed. One moment.

"True. Just don't be too long, we can't have you looking vulnerable," said Morgause with a condescending glance.

She bit down a harsh retort and hurriedly stalked to her bedroom. Upon opening the door, she saw Gwen bent over, picking up pieces of clothing from the floor. As the door shut, Gwen flinched and stood quickly. She averted her eyes, but not before Morgana saw the hardened look in her brown eyes.

So she'd seen the mayhem in the courtyard. She didn't know what she expected. For months, she'd used Gwen, nearly killed her, if from no one else, Gwen's contempt was earned. But more than ever, right now, she could've used a friend. And not just any friend, but her old friend, the one person who had always comforted her when she woke up from one of her nightmares. She remembered Gwen's clean scent and her soft hands stroking her damp hair back from her temples. The tenderness, the kindness that Gwen had always given her without compliant, without reservation had driven away the demons from her nightmares.

And this was a nightmare, of that she was sure, one from which she wasn't likely to wake. One of her own making.

"That will be all, Gwen," she managed to say, pain and regret nearly choking her. Once things could've been different.

"My lady," Gwen said, curtseying with overly formal stiffness. As she watched Gwen hurry from the room, she might've given the crown on her head and the kingdom at her feet for just one comforting look from her old friend. But Gwen's eyes stayed on the floor, like the good servant that she was.

She ambled over to the bed and sat upright. Raising her hands, she reverently lifted the diadem from her perfectly curled hair and placed it in her lap.

It was beautiful. The emblem of her queenship wrought in gold and jewels. And it had been a fitting symbol for her to wear, particularly since the death of the last woman to wear the crown had started a war on magic.

This was she wanted, this piece of metal in her hand, all the power that came with it. She gripped tight in her hand. All the magic that would be restored. She squeezed it tighter, the intricate gold design imprinting into her skin. All the happiness that she would create. The gold pricked her skin, but still she gripped tighter. All the lives she would save.

Then it started. Deep in her throat. The tightening, the difficulty swallowing, the raw burning. Then her nose stung. She sniffed. Her chin quivered. Her lips trembled. The pain boiling over. Her chest heaved. She sank onto the bed, pulling her knees to her chest, her gown tangling in her legs.

And she sobbed.

Hot tears scalded her cheeks, slimy mucus ran from her nose, and despair wept from between her lips, pain flowing from every cell of her body.

She cried for the innocent, for the fallen, for the ones left behind. She cried for her soul, for the path that she was on, for the life she'd left behind. She cried for the unfairness of it all. She cried until she was exhausted and dehydrated, the crown still clasped in her fisted hands.

Rubbing her nose against the arm of her gown, she finally rose from her position on the bed, determined to put herself together before the council meeting. This was her path now, this was her choice. She must be prepared for it. All of it.

Loosening her hands, she hissed as feeling flooded the dormant nerves of her palms and set the crown beside her. She scrubbed the back of her hands over her face, wiping away the tears, blotting any signs of weakness from her face.

She heaved a deep sigh of calm, then another as she mindlessly reached to grab the crown. That's when she saw it. Her cut and bloodied palms had stained the gold with crimson.

There was blood on her crown now. It didn't matter whose it was.

**FINIS**

**Holy angst, Batman! I thought that Morgana's very dark actions deserved some further investigation. The writers often chalk up her actions to "Oh, but she's gone evil". Sure, I can believe some of that, but shooting into the crowd was pretty stone cold. Hope you enjoyed it. **

**Please review! I'm really insatiable for reviews, even as I already have a really high review rate (thank you!). I love to hear from all of you. **

**Confession: Sometimes, to channel my inner "Morgana-ness" I put on bright red lipstick and practice saying "I am your daughter, after all." (NYX's Snow White. Although I did buy MAC's Russian Red at Brown Thomas in Dublin. I'm convinced it's the same shade that Katie wears in that episode.) This is one of my many weird writing quirks. I also have a "thinking hoodie" and a Shakepeare water glass that I use to imbibe greatness. **


	20. Chapter 20

**Whew, it's late here. Many of you were disappointed that I didn't deviate or alter S3's ending. I'd always planned for this story to work within the margins of S3, something that I plan to do as we enter into S4 territory. While I've altered things in other stories or I've rewritten the canon from S2 or after S3, I want to challenge myself to make this work until the start of S5. I hope that you're with me, because there's still a bumpy road ahead.**

_Hell is empty and all the devils are here. _

_William Shakespeare, _The Tempest

Chapter 20

God, how he wanted to hate her.

He wanted to feel some satisfaction at seeing her brought so low, to see the pain contorting her face as she leaned over the unconscious body of Morgause.

She deserved such pain, after all. Hearing of all the atrocities she'd wrecked on Camelot, all the people she'd hurt. The starving knights. The courtyard massacre.

He thought she'd learned her lesson all those years ago when he's seen her turn away from the violence. In the middle of such destruction, she'd been a beacon of truth, a symbol of beauty in the sea of death and pain. That had been one man.

There had been a dozen fallen bodies, dead or broken in the courtyard. Women and children, innocent blood spilt in a place that had seen far too much of Uther's own brand of purported justice.

She'd known it then. What was her excuse now?

Morgause's blond head lulled in Morgana's arms as she relentlessly beseeched her lifeless sister to wake. Sobs choked her chest and she quivered with anxiety.

She wasn't even aware that anyone else was in the room.

From out of nowhere Kilgarrah's words echoed…_The darkness to your light, the hatred to your love…_but he didn't feel like he was the better side of that coin now. Where was his light? Where was his love? Had he ever been light and love when it came to Morgana? Sacrifice, death, betrayal, pain-that's all he'd ever given Morgana. Denial.

He shivered as she made another sound like a wounded animal, all too aware that he was causing her this anguish. And that she'd gladly return the favor.

Did she have to be so beautiful in her pain? So darkly lovely and enduringly fragile? Even in her crimson dress, the very color of all the blood she'd split, she was still so remarkably human. It made him want to protect her, to do whatever action or magic he possessed to right the situation, to stop the tears from filling her eyes.

But he didn't have the pleasure to think about that; this was his Camelot she'd stolen, Arthur's kingdom she'd commandeered. What if it had been his own blonde friend on the floor and not Morgause? What if it was Arthur's body that he was crying over? Would she have felt any stirrings of regret? Any moment of hesitation?

In all these months of schemes and plots, she hadn't. Not once.

"It's over, Morgana," he forced himself to speak the words coldly, raising his chin higher. And he meant more than her reign of terror. Whatever had once sparked between them was done. He would break this spell of attraction and free himself from her grasp.

Because she hated him. And he was trying so damn hard to hate her.

Her eyes met his, blazing, burning with anger and hatred. Emerald fire, the hottest flame of all. Her tears refused to fall, the heat in her eyes drying them up.

"No, you're wrong," she managed through clenched teeth. "It's just begun."

Then she screamed. A shill sound that came from the very depths of her soul. Haunting. Wrenching. Deadly. She was mad. So deliciously, sinfully mad. And damn, if she didn't infect him with her madness, shove regret and nostalgia down his bloody throat and watch choke him with it.

He looked back one last time, her red dress a bright dot in the middle of a cloud of dust. Was it his job to save her? Did he even want to save her? Should he have saved her?

The next day, after the knights had dug through the rubble and found nothing, he finally let go of the dusty breath he'd taken in that stone room. She was gone, missing And this time, no one pined for her presence or mourned her absence. He should've known that she wasn't there. Because he would've felt it. Deep in his gut, cut into the flesh of his heart.

She'd scarred him with her hate, taken a knife and slashed his chest open with words, with looks, with fire. He _bled_ Morgana.

What else had Kilgarrah said? _I fear your destines are now joined forever_.

No shit. For a long time now, he'd know that wounds, bruises, unexpected pain would always be his lot in life. Often the sources of such ailments were unknown enemies or unforeseen situations.

But the pain that ached worst of all was her. She'd always hurt him, pain him. But that he could live with, had lived with far worse before.

But it was the other part that hurt worse. The old wound of their lost friendship….lost romance, if one could even call it that. Her once guileless smile, her trust, her openness had died with a sip from a poisoned pouch. Once he wanted to save her, now he cursed her to hell.

Betrayal changed everything, even if that betrayal was necessary, was reluctant, was unforgiven. He'd been poisoned too-the same hemlock that had clogged up her airway had choked his life too. He'd always be the one who betrayed her first; she might hate Uther with a fury like a storm, but she hated him more. He'd set the tone for the rest of their time together, whatever that may be.

It appeared that in the end, it didn't matter who had started this war between them. It was raging.

**FINIS**

**FYI: I'm actually a very happy and optimistic person, it's nearly disgusting how jovial and upbeat I can be. (Think combination between Kate Middleton and Zooey Deschanel. Stately but enthusiastic) But seriously, these two make me want to gnash my teeth and pull out my hair in some Heathcliffian show of anger and frustration. I think I write so much Merlin and Morgana fanfiction because somehow I'm trying to rectify the wrong that the writers did to these two. All the wasted potential and spoiled sexual tension, and for what? A sad sap ending of the series (I haven't seen all of S4 but I know the spoilers). Utterly heartbreaking. Truly. Alas, before I get too maudlin and morose on y'all, I'll say that of all my stories, this one might be the toughest to make a happy ending. Oh, I have some hot moments coming up, but I don't know how neatly it will be tied up at the conclusion. As a romantic, I'm very open to a "happily ever after" moment, but this story's trajectory might try all my creative powers. **

**Thanks to everyone for all the reviews on this story. I truly appreciate the kind and insightful comments. **


	21. Chapter 21

_Hot hate is twin brother to hot love. _

_~Sir Arthur Conan Doyle_

Chapter 21

_You don't miss her. You didn't miss her._

He commanded himself for the fiftieth time today, for the thousandth time this year.

She moved around the hovel like a lion in a cage: regal, elegant, dangerous. And he felt like a tasty rabbit that'd unwittingly stumbled into her lair. He watched her, wary and edgy. The rope chaffed his wrists, his hands were numb, his throat dry but that wasn't what demanded his attention.

He was transfixed by _her_. He was starved for _her_. The subtle movements of her white hands. The slight tilt of her chin. The soft pout of her pale lips. The gentle flutter of her eyelashes. Every few minutes she'd glance his way and he'd have to avert his gaze, terrified that she'd see his fear. Or worse, his fascination.

His position was uncomfortable; the wet fabric of his shirt clammed against his skin and his triceps stiffened in the confined position. But he'd had worse before, likely would have worse in the future.

Waiting was the torture. If it wasn't death then what was he waiting for? What would she do to him? He shuddered to think of what she might do to him. Her creativity knew no bounds…he was terrified of that thought. Although maybe not as much as he should be.

He so wanted to be brave, to be the kind of man who didn't flinch in the face of such danger. But she'd always been his Achilles' heel, his weakness. Now she made his skin crawl with passion and his body squirm with restrained lust.

Morgana made him feel like he was tied up in knots. More than literally. He couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss her or throttle her. Or kiss her then throttle her. That he could hate someone so vehemently and yet be so attracted, so seduced by her was astounding to say the least. He wished it were just lust, infatuation-those same feelings that Morgana had once purported was merely what passed between Gwen and Arthur.

With Freya, it had been different. He'd loved her for sure, but he loved what she'd done to him, what she'd made him feel. All the dormant feelings she'd roused, all the secrets he'd shared with her in the stretch of a few days; that had been enough. A few minutes of borrowed time in his world that ran far too fast.

But love? God, was love supposed to feel like this? Was love supposed to hurt so damn much? Poison in his glass, wounds to his body, even the chill of the undead, that he could deal with. Freya's death had even taken pieces of his soul that couldn't be easily replaced. But this twisted and wretched pain that churned in his gut was _absolutely unbearable_. Damning her to hell and wishing to save her all in the same moment. He hated what she made him feel. He hated these feelings that she roused. Hot hate. Feverish love.

He knew her better than she knew herself. Or did he? They were the same and yet, she had never truly know him and never would. What madness was this? His feelings were wrong. This lust….this love, God, love…was disloyal to Arthur.

He couldn't love her; she was unlovable. He'd said so himself. Then what was this intensity? This desire to protect her, to comfort her, to be near her? She could kill him. She would hurt him. His heart-his stupid, useless, wretched heart-called to her, demanded her.

As she suddenly moved closer and pressed a rag soaked with some concoction against his wound, he prayed it was poison. Because he didn't know if he could take this anymore. This mad, stabbing sensation buzzing through his body. It felt like pleasure. It felt like pain. The soft touch of her fingers on his collar. He wanted her to be rough, to scrub the cloth against his gash and draw every ounce of pain from the process. To release the sensations from his body with a raw and gaping wound right over his heart.

But she was as gentle as if she was bathing a newborn, tenderly touching the puckered skin with the soothing dampness of her rag. She was ethereal. Like some type of dark angel sent to drag men to hell. And he was in hell. Her lithe body wrapped in black lace, her scent clean and lovely. Not perfumed or flowery like she used to smell, but…human, sensual. How could she still be this beautiful? This alluring without all the trappings of her courtly attire? There was purity in her beauty, in the pale skin that lit up the dark hovel. His fingers had long ago fell asleep; why were they suddenly desperate to run over the ivory skin of her collarbones? To slide down the S curves along the side of her body?

He was breathing hard. Panting as he felt her warm breath against his exposed skin.

This was the torture. To be near her, to feel her hands on his skin, and to be able to do nothing. He wanted to push her away and to pull her against him. He grunted as her icy fingers brushed over his naked chest. Let her think it was from pain.

But it was a different type of pain. Wretched, angry pain. He couldn't look at her, fearing that she'd see the naked emotion in his eyes. The love, God, the love that was slowly kindling despite their combined best efforts to stamp it out. He longed to purge the tenderness that was threatening to overwhelm him in this moment. He was powerless. Tied up. At her mercy. But she'd brought him to his knees so long ago.

"You know, there's one thing I don't understand, Merlin. You're Arthur's servant, nothing more. Yet time and again you've proven yourself willing to lay your life down," she asked, continuing her ministrations.

"What are you doing?" he asked, the question loaded. What was she doing to him? What would she do to him? Why did she care if he was injured?

"Have you never seen Gaius clean a wound before?" she replied sarcastically.

"I know what you're doing, what I don't know is why," he croaked out.

She grabbed his chin between her icy fingers and forced his eyes to meet hers. They were too close. He couldn't think. His eyes, transfixed, flickered between her lips and her eyes. Tension crackled between them, hot and palpable.

"I believe I asked you a question first," she said. "Why are you so loyal to Arthur?"

She shoved his chin away and he kept his eyes on the ground. Truths that he never would speak dying before they ever reached his lips.

Suddenly emboldened, he responded, "I don't expect you to understand, Morgana. You have no sense of duty, no sense of loyalty."

"You're wrong. Don't think I don't understand loyalty just because I've got no one left to be loyal to," she said defiantly. She was lonely, her voice full of longing, of desperation.

_Give me your loyalty. _The thought came out of nowhere. An impossibility-too much had passed between them, her loyalty had been betrayed long ago with one sip from a poisoned pouch. He didn't want her loyalty anymore, she would only disappoint him. He would only disappoint her. Magic, they shared that loyalty, although they were on opposite sides of the spectrum.

Her palm flattened against his wound. Heat crackled across his skin. When he hissed, he let her think it was from pain. His traitorous body leapt to attention; his cock knew where his loyalty would lie.

Healing heat spread through his body, removing the vestiges of ache from his wound and from his entire body. But it couldn't compare to the ecstasy her touch evoked. He closed his eyes against the maelstrom of sensations that radiated from the press of her palm against his heart.

Her heart now. He was repulsed and relieved to admit that. He hated her for making him feel it. Her hand on his face pushed him back, the drugging pull of sleep and magic lulling him into oblivion. Whatever happened, nothing could be worse than this. To be here, separated by mere feet and rope from her, and yet he might've an entire world away from her.

Love was a sadistic bitch; she could rot in hell, right alongside he and Morgana.

FINIS

**I'll admit, I'm never quite sure what to make of this scene. While my Mergana sense tingles with the whole bondage bit (yeah!), the entire time I can't quite tell how Colin's trying to play it. He's panting, avoiding her eyes, putting on this weird ecstasy face when she touches him. If it's not meant to be teasing us Mergana shippers, then they should've gone another route. Too hot to handle. And she never does answer the question about why she's cleaning his wound! Me thinks that it's just an excuse to get her hands on Merlin's delicious body-it would certainly serve her plans well if he died from an infection after his assassination attempts on Arthur.** **What say you? What do you make of that scene?**

**Please review!**


	22. Chapter 22

_You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. _

_Tell me that I am not too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever._

~Captain Wentworth, in the best love letter ever written.

Jane Austen, _Persuasion_

Chapter 22

He looked so peaceful.

His lips were softly parted and his chest rose and fell with every deep breath.

She'd unbound his hands and moved him to her bed after he passed out from the femorrah. It was a small kindness, one she could afford. She sat on the chair nearby, watching him, contemplating him.

He was brave. She didn't expect such brazen courage in the face of her dastardly plan. The insertion of the femorrah was a painful process, yet he'd barely let out more than a few painful yelps.

Stupid serving boy. Why did he have to be so loyal to Arthur? She could've used him on her side. Too many of her allies were weak, unschooled in the art of duty, too foolish to give her their true allegiance. But if Merlin had been on her side…she would've taken Camelot long ago.

But his loyalty couldn't be bought. Not with hot kisses in the dark, not with promises of power or gold. He was unnervingly, unerringly loyal to Arthur, to the point of death, to the point of pain.

That's what made this plan so devious. She knew even if it didn't kill Arthur (had Merlin ever been _that_ good at following orders?), it would break both their spirits. She wanted them to feel the same hurt that haunted her in this hovel, the utter friendlessness that plagued her night and day. Merlin had taken her sister; she would try to take Arthur.

He stirred, his eyelids twitching and fluttering in the candlelight. She should've just dumped him in some faraway mud puddle. By the time he woke and made his way back to Camelot, the femorrah would've taken full effect.

But she hadn't. His few hours of oblivion seemed too precious to resist.

And God help her, she liked being in his presence. So many of her operations were shrouded in darkness and secrecy, far from the prying eyes of Camelot's knights and Arthur's watch. It was better, of course, for Agravaine to spy for her. But she missed some of that life, some of the drama. She missed seeing her plans come to fruition.

And maybe, maybe, possibly, on a tiny level, she missed Merlin. No one else had been clever enough to figure her out. To taunt her even as she set up plan after plan.

After her initial anger had cooled, she'd had to beat back some of the other emotions. Emotions that were disloyal to her sister's spirit, that weren't fitting for a queen…that loosened the binds on her soul while tightening the knots in her stomach.

Being here…with him…she felt alive for the first time in so long. The rage that made her ache for retribution, for power was potent. But this…connection between them was equally as powerful. The game they'd been playing since forever…the dance of danger, passion, and power that played out in the dark corners and hidden nooks of Camelot.

As she gazed at his patrician nose, his angular cheekbones, and his red lips, she also felt the renewed stirrings of attraction. Then she started as she realized his sapphire eyes were open. He frowned as he sat up on his elbows and swiveled his head around. His hand reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, likely feeling for the squirming femorrah.

He scowled as he looked at her seated in the chair beside him. "I thought that the urge to assassinate Arthur was supposed to consume me," he said, a slight huskiness in his voice. He always was cheeky.

"It takes a few hours for full effect," she said, rising and pouring him a large glass of water from a nearby pitcher. She felt his gaze on her turned back and felt a fizzle of …something shoot up her spine.

Cautiously, she walked to his side and handed out the glass. He eyed it suspiciously but took a long sip. She resettled in her chair, careful to move it back a few more inches, out of arm's reach.

Nodding towards his unbound wrists, he asked, "Aren't you afraid I'll run?"

"You could. Although the femorrah is already inside you, it would prove rather useless," she said, shrugging.

He continued to frown and sip in silence. While she'd felt him staring at her previously, there was something eminently more…dangerous about him unbound. His gaze once again flickered over her and she suddenly felt like the prey instead of the predator. It was unsettling. She didn't want to be afraid of him.

But she was. More than terrified. Because his mere presence unveiled feelings, emotions in her that were buried under so many layers of hatred and ambition. It had been much easier to be mistress and servant, jailor and prisoner. But now that he was untied….even if he wouldn't remember any of this…she quivered with the tension that hummed between them.

She needed the warmth of her purpose, the faith of her cause. Because without it, she'd be utterly lost. Merlin might've condemned her sister to death but her own hand had dealt the final blow. It haunted her. It made her feel powerless, when she needed all the power she could get.

A bloody hovel, this is where she'd been forced to live, her true home back in the hands of Arthur. Camelot's laws were wrong; she wasn't. She would set it right. She had to make it right. Everyone was counting on her, weren't they?

But here and now, Merlin was her one indulgence. The truest hate she'd _ever_ felt had been for the man who now lounged against her headboard. And the deepest connection. The most burning desire. He scared the hell out of her. This reaction scared the hell out of her.

He ran his hand over his face. "You could undo this," he said softly.

"Yes," she replied.

"But you won't," he said, the words a statement, not a question. He knew her well. Probably better than anyone else. Maybe even better than Morgause.

"No, I won't undo it," she responded, her voice sounding more like an apology than she wanted.

He nodded and pressed his lips together anxiously. She could tell he was trying to figure out this mess that he'd landed into. Before she might've felt a moment's hesitation at using Merlin in such a manner. Now she must use whatever means were within her reach. Even if it hurt Merlin. He understood that, she knew. He'd done the same.

Moments of silence passed as he stared off into the distance.

"Do you really hate me so much?" he suddenly choked out, his eyes still fixed on some distant spot.

"Yes. You betrayed me. You choose Arthur over me," she said softly. It was the truth, a truth that had come to define her life. To define their relationship even. Before she'd trusted Merlin, consoled herself with his friendship, his kindness. But the tables had turned before she'd even realized it.

"No, I chose Camelot over you," he said fervently, finally turning to meet her eyes. His eyes were full of regret. It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

"Camelot then. One calculated act of violence to save a nation. Too bad that it betrayed your truest friend," she replied. Truest friend? Had that been true?

"Aren't you doing the same thing? Arthur's life to gain Camelot?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

She shook her head. "It's not the same."

Angry, he barked out. "You're right. At least I had the decency to do the act myself rather than use other people for my own ends."

Calmly, she replied. "I don't have the luxury of hemlock. Nor would Arthur willingly drink from my glass. He's not naïve to my ways or unaware of my true allegiance."

"Nor was I until that day. You chose Morgause. I chose Arthur," he said.

Anger flared-as if it had all been that simple. "And you killed my sister. Fitting punishment that I should use you to kill Arthur.

"I didn't want to," he said, his eyes darting away guiltily. She remembered all too well his apology upon her return to Camelot. He'd said the same thing then, before he'd realized exactly how much she'd changed. At the time, she'd felt a touch of pity for him; he had looked so relieved to receive her forgiveness.

Now she wasn't sure what to make of that. They'd both shared in Morgause's death; she had been the one to end her sister's life. But she blamed him for putting her in that position.

"It hardly matters anymore. We'll be even soon enough," she said as she frowned down at her lap.

Unexpectedly, he reached out and laid his warm palm on top of hers. She sucked in a deep breath as the heat of his skin penetrated. "I'm sorry for what you've suffered."

She pulled her hand away as if burned. Because his touch, his comfort did burn. And hurt. Whoever thought such a kind gesture could make her burn with such binary emotions of lust and anger? "I don't want your sympathy," she spat.

Agravaine's touch made her skin crawl; she knew exactly what he hoped his loyalty would buy. But such tenderness…it had been too long since anyone had treated her with such fragility.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his knees nearly touching hers as he sat and stared her down. "Then what do you want, Morgana? You could've easily rid yourself of me hours ago. Why am I still here when I could be closer to doing my duty for you? What is it you truly want from me? Clearly it's not my apologies or my sympathy." Then in a soft voice, he beseeched, "What do you want, Morgana?"

His eyes seemed to pierce her soul. "I….I…I don't know," she stammered as she looked away. She didn't know anymore. What had been her original purpose in keeping him here?

"Is it this?" he asked softly. Suddenly, he was much too close. His fingers grazed her cheek and she felt the breath leave her lungs. Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he leaned in and gently brushed his lips against hers.

She shuddered as his mouth settled against hers. He was cautious, incredibly soft and gentle as his lips pressed against hers. It felt so right. So perfect to be here, with him, to_ feel _the sensations he evoked. Hot heat skittered across her skin as she pressed back, desperate to respond.

But she couldn't. She didn't want…that was…there was Morgause to think on…her plans…her future. What if this was his form of manipulation?

She recognized the other emotion churning in her belly: fear. She was afraid. So bloody afraid of one stupid serving boy, the one who had fascinated her since before she knew what that particular type of fascination meant. And now she was here and it was real, or as real as they would ever be. And she was so terrified to asked for what she wanted, what she'd always wanted from him. He was a threat to her sanity. She couldn't afford any more of his tenderness, any more of his…passion. The price was too high.

She blinked at that realization and tore her mouth away, walking over to stand near the table. She needed the distance or else she was afraid of what she might do.

Once she'd thought that this _thing_ between them was a game. A win or lose competition to see who would crack first. Who would kiss or not kiss?- that was the question. But she'd lost that game and prayed that such a devastating loss would kill the last vestiges of her uncomfortable emotions. It hadn't. Even her sister's later injury and death hadn't done that.

This wasn't a game; it was a war. Two wars raged: for Camelot and for each other. Battle after battle, moment after moment, intimacy after intimacy; she should've known better. It was never about pride or power, but hearts, stupid ridiculous hearts. They'd both lost their souls long ago. She was losing one war, she wouldn't let her weakness lose this one.

"You're insolent," she threw over her shoulder, trying to sound as harsh as she had earlier. The trembling of her voice undercut the effect.

"So I've been told," he said mysteriously.

She took a deep breath to calm her raging heartbeat and said, "I don't….that is…I….that's…not what I want from you."

He didn't answer. When she turned to look at him, his eyes were fixated on her. He looked disappointed. She didn't know how powerful that reaction could be. Her knees weakened at the hot shards of lust in his eyes.

He sighed and looked at his laced fingers. "Is it fair to assume that I won't remember this?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then you should use this opportunity to question me. That is what you want, isn't it?" he said with some bitterness.

She didn't answer. That had been a part of the plan: make Merlin tell her all of Camelot's secrets by any means necessary. Morgause would've approved of such methods. She didn't owe him anything anymore.

But a thought filtered into her mind: in the confines of her room she'd promised not to compromise his allegiance to Camelot. Clearly the femorrah had broken that one. But it seemed somehow…unkind to press him further. The femorrah couldn't be helped; her questions could. She snorted softly, annoyed with her logic. What a twisted moral code she had. But she could ask him some questions. This was real, wasn't it?

So she slowly asked the question that had plagued her for nearly a year. "Do you hate me?"

His head snapped up at the question, surprise evident on his face. He surveyed her for a moment, suspicious of the question. "No," he said intently then sighed deeply. " I've tried for so long to hate you completely. It seems that it's my curse to see the good in people. A weakness, I've been told. But it doesn't feel like one now."

It should've been his weakness; it certainly was hers.

"Now ask me," he said, his eyes locked on hers. The tension in his voice was confusing. Lust or anger? Passion or pain?

"Ask you what?" she replied.

"For what you want. I don't enjoy being played with. God knows you've done enough of that today," he said sighing. Then he commanded slowly, "Ask me."

Further confused, she repeated, "Ask you what?"

"For what you want," he said gently. "If you want me in your bed, you only have to ask. I'll come willingly. God knows I've wanted you since the first time I saw you in that window at Camelot. But you'll have to ask."

"I already said that I didn't want that," she said firmly.

"Why are you afraid to ask, Morgana? Are your afraid of me or are you afraid of yourself?" he asked with a dark stare.

Her fingers fluttered up to her collar, pulling at it. Where was her wit? Where was her rage? Where was her anger? How had he slipped past every defense? Was this what she had wanted all along? These stolen bits of Merlin, of realness in their world of deceit and performance.

_Don't ask. Don't ask. Don't ask. Don't ask_, her mind screamed. Power was important to her. Control drove every action she executed. But he wouldn't remember and she needed to know. Just this once, she'd ask what she'd always dared.

"Did you ever love me? Do you still?" she asked, the question torn from the depths of her embattled soul Her throat wanted to choke the air just as her tongue formed the words.

Silence greeted her. Moments passed without sound. Birds were silent, the fire refused to crackle. The world was attuned to his answer, as if all of nature was on the knife's edge waiting for Merlin's response. He stood and walked over to stand in front of her. His face hovered closer, his eyes naked with an emotion that she couldn't fathom but desperately wanted.

"I love parts of you. The parts that still have the potential for goodness, for kindness, for redemption. I love the Morgana that once was, who saved villages from bullies and fed starving people in the streets, who would've died to protect her friends. And I love the Morgana who could still be again if only she gave herself even the tiniest chance," he declared. He grabbed her hand and continued. "But I hate the rest of it. I hate your anger and your disgust, your self-appointed mission to right wrongs that were done to an entire people. It's merely a cover for your own revenge, your own pain. But most of all, I hate how much you hate me. I hate how things have become between us. I hate that you refuse to forgive me one desperate act that still haunts me today."

Air seemed incapable of filling her lungs. He moved to whisper near her ear, his lips grazing her lobe with every word. "But here and now, in this moment, I truly love you. I may be a fool and an idiot, but I'm not a liar. So make me yours, and I'll make you mine, because this is likely our only chance for something real. That's what you want, isn't it? _Me_," he said.

She nodded, feeling his stubble slide against her cheek with the small movement.

"You can't steal what I willingly give. Just for tonight, Morgana, I'm yours. Are you mine?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes", she breathed. "I'm yours, Merlin. Yours alone."

FINIS

**DAMN, this went in a very different direction than I'd originally intended. I would apologize for the cliffhanger, but since it's me, I bet you saw that coming. **

**On another note, there's been some rather negative feedback on these last few chapters, both in reviews and in pms. While my first response was, "We can talk about character development and plot trajectory when you've earned your Masters in Literature. Until then, drink your haterade while reading someone else's poorly written fanfiction." A stubborn and sassy response, I know. (FYI: I do use the word "haterade" quite frequently) And I'll admit to being a touch sensitive to criticism, particularly when it comes from people who haven't written their own fanfiction. Yes, it has been painful and wrenching to see Morgana go down that dark path, particularly after all the connection that she and Merlin have had in this story. Yet Morgana is nothing if not ambitious. In her twisted path to power, she's made some damned hard choices. That doesn't mean they've been easy to stomach, but I'd like to think that my story has painted her in more vivid detail than "Oh but she's gone evil". Even after the conclusion of S3 and the beginning of S4, we're still hoping for redemption, right? I think she's worth saving and the moment's all the sweeter when things have been tough**. **Have a little faith, readers, I've not given up on a happy ending. Moments like this make me appreciate my consistent reviewers, the ones who always manage to review every chapter and encourage me to finish the next chapter sooner. I write for you. And tonight, I stay up until nearly 3 am for you. **


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